Drnia 

al 

7 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
EDWIN  CORLE 

PRESENTED  BY 
JEAN  CORLE 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 


TALES  PRO/\  TOK10 


BY 

CLARENCE  LUDLOW  BROWNELL 


1900 
QUAIL  &  WARNER 

NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,    1899, 
BY  WARNER  AND   BROWNELL. 


Second  Edition. 


TO 
JOHN   GARDNER  COOL1DGE 

TO 

YUSHOKWAN 

TO 
KOMORI   SENSHO  SAMA 


NOTE. 

These  tales  came  over  the  Pacific  from 
Tokio  some  years  ago  with  the  Talesman  and 
landed  in  the  beautiful  city  of  Tacoma,  which 
the  townsfolk  call  the  City  of  Destiny. 

Both  Tales  and  Talesman  liked  the  Town 
but  their  destiny  lay  not  there;  for  the  Town 
had  small  need  of  Tales  such  as  the  Tales- 
man told,  being  busy  with  Tall  Trees,  Rail- 
roads and  Real  Estate.  Therefore  the  Tales- 
man detaching  the  moss  from  his  MSS. 
journeyed  eastward  and  found  a  kindly  audi- 
ence in  the  Greater  City  of  New  York.  He 
makes  acknowledgement  gratefully  to  the 
New  York  Press  and  to  the  Evening  Post  for 
courteous  permission  to  reprint  such  of  the 
Tales  as  have  appeared  therein. 


CONTENTS. 


Okusama n 

Mukashi  lyemushi 19 

Furo  Oke 31 

Kaso 43 

Junsa S3 

Cho  Kimi  Make,  Han  Boku  Kachi 61 

Oyasumi  Nasai 77 

Kane  Nai  Nareiba 93 

Yaso  No  Senkiyoshi 103 

Otokorashi  Onna 113 

Tokio  No  Hana 125 

Shimbun 133 

Ojigi  to  Niu  Satsu 147 

Butsuzo  Koshite 153 

Ganjitsu 161 

Shibaya  to  Yakusha 171 

Rio 183 

Uta 191 

Geisha 199 

Turampu 211 

Syonara 219 

Nihon  No  Ichiban  Shiwai  Jimbutsu. . .  229 


OKUSAMA. 


OKUSAMA. 

O  Toyo  San  sits  tapping  the  ashes  from  her 
silver  pipe  in  one  of  the  small  thatched 
houses  that  stand  just  ouside  the  blackened 
walls  of  Tatsumi,  waiting  for  her  kurumaya, 
who  has  dropped  the  shafts  of  his  jin-riki-sha 
and  is  taking  a  bowl  of  rice  with  some  old 
friends  at  the  gate  where  he  has  served  so 
many  years.  O  Toyo  is  on  her  way  to  Biwa, 
and  farther  south,  and  has  stopped  at  the  cot- 
tage on  her  way  that  she  may  see  her  children. 

There  is  a  longing  in  her  eyes  as  she  sits 
half  kneeling  on  the  little  square  mat  by  the 
brazier,  now  arranging  the  bits  of  charcoal 
with  her  tongs  and  now  taking  a  bit  of  tobacco 
for  her  pipe  from  the  pouch  beside  her  on 
the  matting.  Her  face  is  gentle  and  sweet 
to  look  upon.  When  she  smiles  her  eyes 
sparkle  and  her  parting  lips  discover  pearly 
teeth  that  have  never  needed  a  dentists  care. 
But  her  smile  is  hardly  more  than  courtesy 
despite  its  gentle  look,  for  there  is  a  yearning 
13 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

in  her  heart  that  a  woman  of  another  race 
could  not  conceal.  She  is  a  mother  but  her 
children  are  growing  up  almost  as  strangers 
to  her.  It  is  not  her  fault  at  all.  Her  parents 
had  arranged  her  marriage  when  she  was 
hardly  in  her  teens  without  asking  her  whether 
she  would  or  not.  Obedience  was  the  only 
law  she  knew,  and  with  filial  piety  (why  is 
there  not  an  Old  English  equivalent  for  this 
term  ?)  she  had  done  her  parent's  bidding, 
not  questioning  their  choice.  Her  lot  had 
been  that  of  many  another  native  woman.  It 
is  typical. 


O  Toyo  San  must  wait  outside  to  see  the 
children  born  to  her  in  Tatsumi,  a  girl  and  a 
boy.  The  boy,  O  Bo  Chan,  as  the  house  folk 
call  him,  is  heir  to  the  ancient  manor.  The 
master  of  Tatsumi  is  lord  of  all  the  region 
round.  He  has  owned  Hombo,  the  village 
extending  northward  ever  since  men  first 
abode  there,  and  the  checker-board  of  rice 
fields  reaching  far  out  toward  the  boundaries 
of  Niu  Gun,  one  of  the  richest  counties  in  the 
famous  province  of  Echizen. 

Those,  however,  who  have  long  known 
Tatsumi  and  the  lord  thereof  doubt  if  much 


OKUSAMA. 

but  the  name  of  these  great  possessions  will 
be  left  by  the  time  O  Bo  Chan  has  come  to 
man's  estate.  Bo's  grandfather  has  been  in- 
kiyo  many  years.  Before  he  retired  from 
active  life  to  devote  himself  to  study  and 
meditation  he  had  lived  like  a  prince,  but  well 
within  his  income.  When  he  handed  over  his 
estates  to  his  son,  Hikusaburo,  he  had  ac- 
companied the  transfer  with  much  good  ad- 
vice which  the  heir  had  acknowledged  duti- 
fully saying  "kashi  komari  mashita"  and  "saio 
de  gozaimasu"  frequently. 

But  Tatsumi's  friends  said  "neko  ni  koban" 
(gold  coins  to  a  cat)  when  they  spoke  among 
themselves,  though  in  public  they  held  their 
peace. 

Since  then  their  silent  prophecy  has  been 
fulfilling  rapidly,  but  the  inkiyo  has  not  paid 
heed.  His  cares  for  this  life  are  over  and  his 
days  are  sweet  and  peaceful.  O  Kamu  San, 
his  honored  wife  saw  plainly  but  she  could 
not  speak.  Indeed,  soon  she  was  O  Kamu 
San  no  longer,  only  O  Ba  San,  grandmother. 
Her  son  had  become  the  head  of  the  house 
and  her  duty,  as  a  woman's  duty  ever  is  in 
Japan,  was  to  obey,  not  to  criticise. 

So  Hikusaburo  had  free  way.     Never  did 

•J 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

any  one  say  no  to  him.  His  father  had  given 
to  him  O  Toyo  San  before  he  was  done  with 
school.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  rich  rela- 
tion, a  sake  brewer.  Like  all  other  native 
marriages,  it  was  purely  a  family  agreement, 
without  civil  or  religious  ceremony,  and  of 
course  both  houses  were  happy  over  the 
event. 

When  the  bride  arrived  at  the  home  of  her 
new  parents,  dressed  in  silken  robes  and  her 
face  painted  white  as  chalk,  the  place  was 
thronged  with  guests.  Tatsumi  threw  wide 
its  gates,  and  there  was  feasting  for  a  week. 
Clam  broth  and  mushrooms  were  dispensed 
lavishly;  there  was  joy  throughout  the  whole 
of  Echizen. 

Later,  when  a  boy  was  born,  the  old  walls 
once  more  overflowed  with  joyousness.  Oji 
San  smiled  at  his  grandchild,  and  seeing  that 
it  was  a  healthy  babe,  put  his  affairs  in  order 
and  became  inkiyo.  Hikusaburo  aided  him 
in  this,  for  he  was  eager  to  take  control.  He 
accepted  everything  with  due  humility,  even 
to  the  patriarchal  blessing  and  advice.  Then 
he  began  the  life  he  had  longed  to  lead.  His 
home  saw  little  of  him,  except  when  he  came 
in  with  a  band  of  geisha  and  made  merry  till 
16 


OKUSAMA. 

the  sun  rose.  Wherever  he  went  the  samisen 
began  to  twang,  and  the  moon-fiddle,  the 
koto  and  the  drum  to  fill  the  air. 

One  day  Hikusaburo,  who  now  was  the  fa- 
ther of  two  children,  fell  in  love.  He  had  been 
in  love  before  often  enough  for  a  day  or  two, 
or  possibly  a  week;  but  this  time  the  feeling 
clung  to  him  and  hurt.  Of  course  she  was  a 
geisha,  for  that  was  the  only  sort  of  woman 
Hikusaburo  had  paid  attention  to  since  he  be- 
came lord  of  Tatsumi.  He  bought  her  release 
from  the  master  who  had  trained  her,  and 
took  her  home,  along  with  a  dozen  other  of 
her  sisters  in  the  art  of  spending  money.  He 
feared  lest  she  might  be  lonely. 

Tatsumi  saw  wilder  times  than  ever  it  had 
known  before.  Sake  flowed  like  water.  Hom- 
bo  hardly  recognized  itself.  O  Kamu  San, 
Hikusaburo's  wife,  only  was  unhappy.  To 
see  herself,  the  mother  of  two  children,  sup- 
planted by  a  doll  not  yet  fourteen  years  old 
was  too  much  even  for  her  self-abnegation. 
The  cheerfulness  which  the  native  code  com- 
mands to  women  was  not  in  evidence  in  her 
countenance.  Hikusaburo  spoke  harshly.but 
she  would  not  brighten  up.  Then  he  sent  her 
home. 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

She  has  not  been  within  the  walls  of  Tat- 
sumi  since.  She  would  not  enter  though  not 
even  a  ghost  were  about  the  place.  So  she  sits 
outside,  waiting,  while  the  melancholy  music 
of  the  twanging  samisen  floats  out  from  the 
zashiki,  where  once  she  was  mistress  and 
where  now  my  lord  makes  merry  with  his 
doll.  The  kurumaya  says  that  possibly  when 
my  lord  is  drunk  she  may  see  her  children. 


MUKASHI  IYEMUSHI. 


MUKASHI  IYEMUSHI. 


Our  landlord  had  a  delightful  home,  a  duti- 
ful son  and  a  snap.  The  snap  was  we.  We 
were  in  the  capital  city  of  Etchiu,  on  the  west 
coast  of  Dai  Nippon,  looking  out  over  the 
North  Sea,  as  they  call  it  there,  toward  the 
frozen  Siberian  coast.  We  were  just  from  col- 
lege, and  knew  fully  as  much  as  the  average 
college  man  about  the  world  at  large  and 
about  business  in  particular. 

Our  landlord,  Kintaro  Okashi.was  a  samurai 
of  the  old  school.  He  was  brought  up  under 
the  feudal  system,  and  knew  how  to  fight,  as 
all  gentlemen  should  in  those  days.  If  he  knew 
anything  else  he  concealed  it  during  the  year 
we  lived  with  him.  Of  course,  though,  he 
knew  how  to  make  merry,  and  could  handle 
artistically  a  brush  dipped  in  red  paint.  He 
could  make  his  evening  environment  look  as 
though  it  had  been  lacquered  with  the  hues 
of  the  setting  sun;  but  such  knowledge  was  not 
remarkable.  Every  one  in  Japan  can  do  that. 
21 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

He  was  quite  regardless  of  expense  in  this 
employment,  for  he  was  of  gentle  birth,  and, 
besides,  he  had  no  money.  The  Government 
had  pensioned  him  when  it  abolished  the  feu- 
dal system  and  caste,  and  there  were  legally 
no  more  samurai;  but  that  pension  was  mort- 
gaged. Kintaro  Okashi  had  spent  forty  years 
of  it  in  advance.  Consequently,  when  we, 
Gardner  and  I,  went  to  him  with  a  proposal  to 
be  our  landlord,  he  welcomed  us  and  bowed 
so  low  that  he  broke  the  floor.  He  said  he 
loved  Americans,  and  confided  in  a  friend,  as 
we  learned  afterward, that  he  considered  young 
ones  were  better  than  a  pension.  It  is  only 
fair  to  say  that  he  was  brave  whenever  there 
was  occasion  and  exceedingly  generous  when- 
ever he  had  anything  to  give.  Often  he  put 
himself  to  great  personal  inconvenience  to  do 
a  friend  a  favor.  In  those  days,  thanks  to 
what  was  known  as  "the  most  favored  nation 
clause"  in  Japan's  treaty  with  the  chief  coun- 
tries of  the  world  and  to  general  bungling 
in  the  Department  of  Foreign  Relations,  out- 
siders could  not  own  nor  rent  property  in  their 
own  names,  except  in  restricted  districts  of 
some  half-dozen  cities,  such  as  Tokio,  Yoko- 
hama, Kobe,  Osaka,  Nagasaki,  Niigata,  and 

22 


MUKASHI  IYEMUSHL 

Hakodate.  As  we  wished  to  study  Japanese 
life,  we  did  not  care  to  live  in  any  of  the  for- 
eign concessions,  where  one  never  is  quite  in 
touch  with  real  Japan. 

We  went  to  the  west  coast,  to  a  province 
where  no  foreigners  had  lived  before;  and,  as 
we  could  not  be  our  own  landlord,  we  pro- 
ceeded to  hire  one.  A  friend  recommended 
Okashi  San,  and  we  took  him.  According  to 
our  agreement,  we  hired  him  to  hire  us  as  in- 
structors in  an  English  school  that  offered 
wonderful  facilities  for  teaching  the  American 
language  as  spoken  in  New  York. 

Okashi  rented  two  buildings,  one  for  the 
school  and  one  for  our  living  house.  He  lived 
with  his  family  in  the  school,  and  for  the  first 
month  his  wife  cooked  for  us,  and  both  of 
them  did  our  marketing.  At  the  end  of  the 
month  we  called  for  the  bills.  Okashi  San 
would  not  hear  of  it.  "lye,  iye  !  " — "No,  no  ! " 
— he  would  repeat.  "August  pardon  deign, 
but  the  school  is  a  resplendent  success,  and  I 
and  my  stupid  wife  are  overwhelmed  with 
honor.  It  is  we  who  owe  you." 

This  went  on  for  three  days,  until  we  began 
to  believe  Okashi  meant  it,  and  proceeded  to 
put  our  money  to  other  uses.  When  it  had 
23 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

thus  been  put  he  appeared  before  us  one 
warm  afternoon  with  a  roll  of  thin  brown  pa- 
per exactly  nineteen  feet  six  inches  in  length. 
(We  measured  it  along  the  edge  of  the  tatami.) 
It  was  a  bill.  Okashi  San  made  a  bow  for 
every  foot  in  the  strip  and  then  began  to  read 
it  to  us. 

Many  of  the  items  were  in  fractions  of  a  cent. 
One  for  pepper  was  $0.0 1 53,  or  as  the  Japanese 
read  it,  "kosho  is  sen  go  rin  sammo."  Gard- 
ner said  the  sammo  was  unnecessary  extrava- 
gance, as  we  could  have  gotten  quite  enough 
for  an  even  "is  sen  go  rin.  Three  decimals  was 
quite  deep  enough  to  go  into  kosho." 

Okashi  bowed  eight  times  and  said,  "Sayo 
de  gozaimasu," — "Honorable  truth  so  august- 
ly  deigns  to  be."  Which  we  interpreted  grate- 
fully to  imply  that  next  month  there  would  be 
economy  in  condiments. 

When  the  reading  was  over  we  learned  the 
total  was  $21,  or  a  little  over  $i  a  foot.  We 
had  expected  nothing  less  than  $100,  estim- 
ating by  the  length  of  time  it  took  to  read 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  As  we  did 
not  have  $2 1 ,  Gardner  wired  a  friend  in  Tokio, 
and  received  $30  the  next  morning.  Thirty 
dollars  is  the  telegraph  limit.  We  paid  Okashi 
24 


MUKASHI  IYEMUSHL 

San  the  $21,  and  he  returned  in  half  an  hour 
with  a  red  seal  and  a  stamp  at  the  end  of  his 
scroll,  showing  that  the  bill  had  been  duly 
paid. 

We  asked  him  if  he  was  sure  everything 
had  been  settled  for,  as  we  were  not  charmed 
with  his  having  brought  in  a  bill  after  so 
many  protestations,  and  we  wished  to  clean 
our  slate  entirely  while  we  were  about  it. 

"Indeed  that  is  all,"  said  our  landlord.  "It 
is  everything,  even  the  rent." 

Upon  this  we  devised  how  we  should  dis- 
burse the  $9  remaining  out  of  the  $30.  We 
decided  to  study  the  famous  "No"  dancing, 
and  our  money  evaporated  pleasantly. 

The  next  day,  as  we  sat  on  the  tatami,  won- 
dering if  we  should  ever  learn  what  to  do 
with  our  legs,  the  karakami  slid  apart  and 
Okashi  Okusama  appeared,  bowing  multitu- 
dinously.  She  had  a  roll  of  thin  brown  paper 
in  her  hand,  like  unto  the  one  her  husband 
had  brought  in,  and  she  pushed  it  gently  to- 
ward us  as  she  bowed. 

"We  squared  that  all  up  yesterday,"  said 
Gardner. 

"lye,  O  chigai  masu  de  gozaimasu,"  said 
Okusama. 

25 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

"  'Honorably  different  august  is,"  is  it  ?" 
asked  Gardner.  "I  dont  think  so.  Let's  see 
it."  And  he  unrolled  it  along  the  tatami 
edge. 

"By  Jove!  you've  added  two  feet,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "And  where's  the  stamp  and  the 
seal  ?" 

"Shirrimasen  de  gozaimasu," — "Not  know- 
ing augustly  am," — said  Okusama. 

After  a  lengthy  discussion  we  discovered 
that  the  twenty-one  feet  and  six  inches  bill 
was  a  separate  account,  quite  distinct  from 
her  husband's  and  as  just.  The  pair  had 
worked  independently.  Gardner  had  to  wire 
Tokio  for  another  $30.  We  got  into  such  a 
mess  trying  to  straighten  out  the  double  ac- 
count that  we  decided  to  hire  a  professional 
cook,  and  to  let  him  pay  cash  for  everything 
day  by  day  as  we  went  along.  We  paid  him 
day  by  day,  and  so  escaped  monthly  bills. 
This  really  lightened  the  work  of  our  landlord 
and  landlady  greatly,  but  they  disapproved 
the  change,  nevertheless;  it  had  been  such 
joy  ordering  things  at  the  various  shops  about 
town. 

After  this  affairs  went  on  smoothly  for  some 
time,  until  one  morning  Okashi  San  handed 
26 


MUKASHI  IYEMUSHL 

Gardner  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  appeared 
the  following  items:  Raw  fish,  mushrooms, 
eggs,  sake,  Cherry  Blossom,  Peach  Bud,  Chrys- 
anthemum, Golden  Plum  and  Thousand  Joys 
— a  combination  that  suggested  gayety.  As 
both  our  houses  had  been  quiet  the  night 
before,  we  did  not  understand.  Okashi  San 
explained,  however.  Some  dear  friends  were 
leaving  Etchiu  for  a  long  journey,  and  he  had 
been  "saying  goodby."  As  he  had  no  money, 
he  brought  the  bill  to  us.  He  had  had  a  jolly 
time,  and  was  sorry  we  had  not  been  with 
him.  He  would  have  asked  us,  but  his  friends, 
being  strangers,  might  have  been  unamusing. 

Under  the  circumstances  Gardner  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  go  into  his  sleeve  for  the  amount 
of  the  bill.  In  the  evening,  when  he  had  re- 
covered somewhat,  he  made  remarks  about 
hugeous  nerve. 

We  had  laid  aside  our  yof uku  in  Etchiu  and 
had  put  on  the  Japanese  dress  and  adopted 
the  native  manner  of  living  in  everything  else 
as  well.  We  gave  a  large  part  of  our  foreign 
clothes  to  Okashi  San  and  to  his  son  Kojiki. 
They  took  the  suits  to  the  tailor's  and  had  them 
cut  down  to  fit.  Kojiki  San  took  advantage  of 
his  chance  to  give  orders  to  a  shitateya  and  had 
27 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

made  for  himself  a  neat  cutaway  coat,  with  a 
waistcoat  to  match.  We  hardly  knew  him 
when  he  presented  himself  in  his  new  attire 
and  handed  us  the  bill  for  all  the  tailoring.  He 
said  he  would  like  some  new  patent  leather 
boots,  too,  but  the  shitateya  could  not  make 
them.  We  allowed  him  to  wait  for  the  boots. 

Gardner  went  to  Niigata  once  to  see  some 
naval  friends,  and  while  he  was  there  I  ran 
out  of  funds  and  wired  him  for  $60.  He  and 
a  friend  each  sent  $30.  It  so  happened  I  was 
called  over  the  mountains  before  the  reply 
came  and  was  gone  three  days  on  business 
connected  with  the  Government  schools. 

When  I  returned  I  heard  singing  from  afar, 
and  on  going  into  the  house  I  found  Okashi 
on  his  back  in  some  ashes  near  an  American 
stove  we  had  set  up  in  one  of  the  school 
rooms.  His  legs  and  arms  were  in  the  air  and 
he  was  singing  a  Japanese  song  of  Gardner's 
composition.  "Doitashi  mashiti  abunaio  is- 
sakijitsu  go  men  na  sai,"  etc.  Noisy,  but  al- 
together meaningless.  When  he  saw  me  he 
jumped  up  and  did  an  old  samurai  war  dance, 
explaining  the  while  that  the  $60  had  come 
all  right  and  that  he  had  taken  my  seal  and 
got  the  money  from  the  telegraph  office. 
28 


MUKASHI  IYEMUSHL 

He  had  not  eaten  anything,  he  said,  for 
three  days;  but  sake! — ah!  ha!  And  he  show- 
ed a  snow-white  tongue.  Then  he  untwisted 
his  obe  and  handed  me  forty  cents,  all  that 
remained  of  the  money  Gardner  and  his  friend 
had  wired.  He  said  he  had  paid  many  bills 
and  had  enjoyed  himself.  We  never  learned 
exactly  where  the  money  went  to,  but  we  had 
suspicions. 

When  Gardner  decided  to  resign  his  pro- 
fessorship and  to  leave  Japan  there  was  great 
sorrow  in  Etchiu.  The  great  folk  of  the  pro- 
vince visited  the  house  and  brought  him  tes- 
timonials and  gifts.  Together  these  presents 
made  a  beautiful  collection.  About  half  an 
hour  before  Gardner's  jinrikisha  was  to  start 
Kintaro  Okashi  San  came  over  with  a  glorious 
red  bowl,  which  he  gave  with  many  protesta- 
tions of  undying  regard.  Then  he  "borrow- 
ed" fifteen  dollars. 


FURO  OKE. 


FURO  OKE. 

Gardner  made  a  study  of  baths  while  he 
was  in  Japan.  What  he  did  not  know  about 
them  when  he  left  was  exactly  enough  to  make 
a  native  bathing  suit.  It  is  odd,  too,  that  he 
should  have-  taken  to  the  furo  oke  so  enthusi- 
astically when  one  recalls  his  first  experience 
in  a  Tokio  bath  tub. 

This  is  what  he  told  some  globe  trotters  at 
the  Yokohama  United  Club  one  day.  They 
were  asking  for  points  on  "doing"  Japan. 

"I  had  just  run  up  to  Tokio  to  see  a  man  in 
the  Imperial  University,"  he  explained.  "He 
wasn't  at  home,  but  a  young  student  who  was 
taking  care  of  his  place  greeted  me  most  hos- 
pitably. He  said:  'Oh,  you  have  a  letter  to 
the  Professor,  and  are  just  from  America.  I 
am  a  thousand  times  sorry  that  he  is  not  at 
home.  But  come  in,  anyway.  I  shall  do  all 
I  can  to  explain  Japan  to  you.' 

"He  made  a  noble  beginning,  I  assure  you. 
He  taught  me  chopsticks  so  well  that  I  was 
33 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

expert  in  half  an  hour.  Then  he  fed  me  with 
seaweed  and  raw  fish.  I'll  tell  you  about  that 
later.  And  finally  he  boiled  me. 

"It  is  the  custom  here,  you  know,  to  bathe 
every  afternoon.  His  bathtub  was  out  on  the 
lawn.  It  is  an  oval  arrangement,  about  as 
high  as  it  is  long,  and  a  foot  longer  than  it 
is  wide.  In  one  end  there  is  a  stovepipe 
running  down  through  the  bottom  and  com- 
ing up  just  even  with  the  rim  of  the  tub.  At 
the  lower  end  of  the  pipe  is  a  grate  that  holds 
a  charcoal  fire  which  heats  the  water.  The 
idea  is  to  get  in  the  tub  when  the  water  is 
warmed  and  sit  there  while  the  temperature 
gradually  rises.  It's  a  great  scheme,  as  I 
found  out  afterward. 

"The  Japanese  can  stand  it  until  the  ther- 
mometer shows  125  to  128  degrees.  So  can 
I,  now,  after  I've  been  at  it  a  year,  but  it's 
something  to  be  worked  up  to  gradually.  The 
first  time  you  try  a  Japanese  bath  95  degrees 
will  do  much  better. 

"Well,  as  there  was  no  one  but  this  student 
in  sight,  I  went  out  on  the  lawn  and  got  in  the 
tub.  It  was  fine.  The  blue  sky  overhead  and 
the  wide,  wide  world  around  me.  'This  is 
just  my  size,'  I  said.  'I  shall  apply  for  nat- 
34 


FURO  OKE. 

uralization  papers  to-morrow  and  settle  down 
for  the  rest  of  my  life  in  Japan.  It's  good 
enough  for  me.'  And  so  I  sat  there,  thinking 
of  what  I  would  do  and  the  fun  I'd  have. 

"But  while  I  was  musing  the  fire  burned.  I 
didn't  notice  it  at  first;  not  until  I  observed 
something  else.  That  was  that  this  young 
student's  wife  and  her  maid  had  come  out 
while  I  was  in  my  tub  and  were  busy  washing 
rice  by  the  well,  not  far  away.  'That's  er — 
something,  I  said.'  'Why  didn't  that  blooming 
rat  tell  them  that  I  was  out  here  in  the  tub  ? 
I'd  wring  his  neck  if  I  could  get  at  him.' 

"  'They'll  be  gone  soon,  I  suppose,'  I  said  to 
myself.  But  I  was  hot.  So  was  the  water, 
and  it  got  hotter.  'They're  not  in  a  hurry  with 
that  rice,'  I  said.  'Confound  a  country  where 
it  takes  them  all  day  to  wash  rice."  I  raved 
and  swore — inwardly,  of  course — but  it  did 
no  good.  It  didn't  cool  the  water  or  me  a  bit. 

"That  water  behaved  badly.  It  didn't  warm 
up  gradually  to  the  boiling  point,  thereby  al- 
lowing me  to  simmer  into  mock  missionary 
broth.  It  'het*  itself  up  by  jerks.  It  would 
simmer  gently,  then  drop  about  two  degrees, 
just  enough  to  fool  me  into  the  idea  that  the 
fire  was  going  out,  and  that  I  should  be  com- 
35 


TALES  FROM  TOK10. 

fortable.  Then  it  would  buck  up  six  points, 
and  I'd  have  a  touch  of  Hades. 

"Still  they  washed  that  rice.  If  I  could  have 
yelled  I'd  have  felt  better,  but  I  didn't  dare.  I 
was  afraid  they'd  see  me.  I  tried  to  sneak, 
but  just  as  I'd  be  half  way  out  one  of  them 
would  look  around  or  look  as  if  she  was  go- 
ing to  look  around,  and  down  I'd  duck.  Every 
time  I  dropped  I  felt  my  hide  peel  off,  just  as 
in  the  stories  they  used  to  tell  of  fellows  being 
skinned  alive  out  West  by  Injuns. 

"All  the  water  was  too  hot,  but  at  the  sur- 
face it  felt  like  a  red-hot  ring  bound  to  my 
body.  I  tried  to  stir  it  up  to  equalize  the  heat, 
but  motion  was  painful.  I  felt  as  if  I  couldn't 
move.  I  didn't  have  enough  resolution.  You 
see,  I  was  nearly  done.  So  I  braced  my  feet 
against  the  little  partition  that  serves  as  a  fen- 
der to  the  iron  pipe  and  tried  to  endure  it.  The 
water  grew  hotter.and  I  braced  harder,  until 
there  was  a  crack  and  a  splash.  The  fender 
gave  way,  and  my  foot  went  plumb  against 
that  sizzling  pipe. 

"It  was  just  then  that  I  forgot  all  about  the 

clothes  I  didn't  have  on.     I  also  forgot  about 

the  rice  washers,  and  that  they  could  see  me. 

I  forgot  everything,  in  fact,  except  that  I  was 

36 


FURO  OKE. 

boiled  almost  to  death.  As  I  jumped  I  slip- 
ped backward  on  the  edge  of  the  tub,  rolled 
around  on  the  back  of  my  neck  exactly  one 
minute  by  the  clock,  then  rushed  into  the 
house  just  in  time  to  meet  two  American 
missionary  ladies  who,  like  me,  had  called, 
not  knowing  that  the  professor  was  out  of 
town. 

"They  didn't  seem  to  be  shocked.  I  had  sense 
enough  left  to  notice  that,  but  I  was  awfully 
embarrassed." 

"Now  if  you  fellows  want  to  get  at  the  real 
Japan — natural  Japan,  be  sure  and  take 
plenty  of  baths  while  here,"  continued  Gard- 
ner. The  bath  is  the  best  point  of  view  from 
which  to  study  human  nature  that  you  can 
find.  Don't  listen  to  what  any  one  tells  you 
in  the  treaty  ports;  not,  at  least,  until  you  have 
made  a  tour  of  the  country  and  have  taken  at 
least  i  ,000  baths.  Then,  if  you  like,  you  may 
let  the  Kobeites  and  the  Yokohamaites  and 
the  Nagasakites  tell  you  all  they  know,  and 
you  will  be  able  to  separate  the  chaff  from  the 
grain. 

"Some  of  the  foreign  residents  can  give  you 
many  points,  but  the  majority  will  fill  you  up 
with  misinformation.  Wait  till  you've  had 
37 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

your  baths  before  you  listen.  Japan,  as  seen 
from  the  bathtub,  is  the  real  Japan,  and  Henry 
Norman  will  admit  there's  something  in  that. 
If  you  don't  know  enough  to  write  a  book 
when  you  come  back  it  will  be  because  you 
were  struck  blind  early  in  the  visit.  You'll 
have  chances  for  your  camera,  too,  and  you 
must  work  your  sketch  book  for  all  it's  worth. 
Take  notes  and  come  back  ripe  for  fame! 

"It  is  remarkable  that  no  one  has  yet  'writ- 
ten up'  Japan  from  the  bathtub  side.  Even 
Lafcadio  Hearn,  who  is  more  sympathetic 
than  any  one  else  so  far,  among  the  men  who 
write,  pays  small  attention  to  the  tub.  Basil 
Hall  Chamberlain,  who  is  wonderfully  well 
posted  on  the  history  of  the  country,  says  the 
Japanese  possess  only  two  things  they  haven't 
borrowed  from  other  countries.  The  first  is 
their  poetry  and  the  second  is  their  hot  baths. 

"It  hardly  would  be  worth  your  while  to  go 
in  for  the  poetry  to  any  extent.  It  would  take 
you  five  years  to  learn  to  read  it,  and  twice  as 
long  to  learn  to  compose  it  yourself.  But 
with  hot  baths  it  is  different.  You  can  learn 
to  take  them  in  a  few  weeks,  if  you  will  profit 
bymy  experience  anddo  not  begin  too  hard  and 
are  not  shy.  As  I  said  before.your  native  friends 
38 


FURO  OKE. 

are  likely  to  be  in  water  at  1 1 5  degrees  to  1 20 
degrees,  that  would  take  the  hide  right  off  a 
beginner.  I  got  so  tough  after  a  few  months' 
practice  that  I  could  sit  still  in  water  at  125  de- 
grees. I  couldn't  move  round  of  course,  and 
I  had  to  be  mighty  slow  getting  in  and  out, 
but  I  could  stand  the  heat  even  on  my  face. 

"If  I  were  you  I'd  get  a  student  from  the 
university  to  act  as  guide.  They  are  fairly 
trustworthy  and  good  company.  Don't  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  professional  guides  at 
the  treaty  ports.  They'll  pull  your  leg.  When 
you've  found  a  student  that  speaks  English 
well,  and  most  of  them  do,  though  in  an 
amusingly  formal  way,  start  off  for  the  West 
Coast.  Travel  the  unfrequented  routes  as 
much  as  possible,  that  is,  routes  that  for- 
eigners do  not  take.  You  can  find  hun- 
dreds of  charming  places  that  few  foreigners 
have  seen.  And  in  many  of  these  places  there 
are  hot  springs  and  mineral  baths. 

"Take  'em  all  and  watch  the  people  about 
you.  You'll  see  every  one  in  the  neighbor- 
hood every  day — villagers  and  the  visitors 
alike,  men  and  women,  young  and  old,  large 
and  small,  every  morning  and  evening.  All 
come  into  the  village  square,  disrobe  and  let 
39 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

themselves  down  gently  into  the  huge  tank  of 
running  water. 

"Then  the  news  of  the  day  and  the  gossip 
of  the  neighborhood  are  discussed  from  every 
viewpoint.  Listen  hard  and  have  your  guide 
mix  up  in  the  talk  as  much  as  possible.  Get 
him  to  repeat  to  you  all  that  he  remembers 
after  the  bath  is  over.  Don't  talk  to  him  in 
the  bath,  or  the  neighbors  will  crowd  around 
to  hear  the  queer  sounds  you  make.  They 
will  quit  talking  of  their  own  doings,  which 
are  what  you  wish  to  become  familiar  with, 
and  will  talk  about  your  skin  and  hair  and 
eyes,  how  large  you  are  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing. 

"So  keep  your  mouth  shut  while  you're  in 
the  bath  and  use  your  eyes  and  ears.  When 
you  go  back  to  your  hotel  you  can  have  a  les- 
son in  Japanese  from  your  guide,  and  inci- 
dentally teach  him  a  little  English,  which  is 
what  he's  really  after. 

"One  reason  why  these  baths  are  good 
places  to  study  native  life  is  that  they  are  the 
only  places  where  the  sexes  come  together 
for  general  conversation.  Men  and  women 
have  bathed  together  naked  in  Japan  from 
time  immemorial.  The  Government  says 
40 


FURO  ORE. 

that  the  presence  of  women  keeps  the  men 
from  talking  politics  too  much,  and  though 
missionaries  say  that  the  custom  is  shocking, 
the  Government  does  not  interfere.  'We  have 
been  bathing  this  way  for  2,000  years  without 
scandal,  why  should  we  change  ?'  the  na- 
tives say;  '  there  is  no  evil  in  the  custom  to 
those  whose  minds  are  free  from  evil.'  So 
they  ignored  the  pleadings  of  the  'sky  pilots,' 
and  the  children  of  Japan  continue  bathing  in 
just  the  sort  of  suits  they  wore  when  they 
were  born." 


KASO. 


KASO. 


41  Speaking  of  feasts  and  funerals,"  said 
Gardner  to  some  griffins  he  had  up  to  tiffin 
one  day,  "  I  saw  an  old  man  roasting  while 
his  family  sat  around  eating  and  drinking  and 
making  merry.  It  was  over  on  the  west 
coast,  where  Buddhism  is  strong." 

"  It  was  a  strange  sight  to  me,"  he  contin- 
ued, "  for  I  had  not  been  in  the  country  long, 
and  did  not  know  anything  about  the  native 
funeral  customs.  The  old  man  who  was  burn- 
ing had  been  my  neighbor.  He  was  "  inkio" 
— that  is,  retired  from  active  life.  His  eldest 
son  was  my  landlord.  The  old  man's  friend- 
ship had  won  me  the  good  will  of  his  house- 
hold. That  is  how  I  happened  to  be  at  the 
funeral. 

"  He  was  88  years  old.  This  is  the  lucky 
age  in  Japan,  because  of  the  way  the  number 
is  written."  Then  Gardner  made  marks  with 
his  chopsticks  dipped  in  shoyu  on  the  top  of 
his  tray,  two  little  dabs  pointing  at  each  other 
45 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

for  8,  then  below  a  cross  for  10,  and  below 
this  two  more  little  dabs.  The  column  then 
read  8,  10,  8  or  88.  Now  if  the  four  dabs 
were  brought  close  up  and  down  to  the  cross 
in  the  middle  the  88  would  change  into  the 
character  rice. 

Rice  is  the  Japanese  synonym  for  plenty, 
so  the  man  or  woman  reaching  the  age  of 
88  is  held  in  particular  esteem,  and  my  friend's 
funeral  was  more  elaborate  than  the  usual 
affair  because  of  his  lucky  age. 

"Crowds  came  to  the  house,  for  everybody 
that  knew  anybody  knew  Takaiyanagi  Inkiyo. 
They  came  in  and  bowed  before  the  house- 
hold shrine,  where  his  name  and  the  age  of 
such  good  omen  were  inscribed.  As  they 
bowed  they  pressed  their  hands  together  as 
Christians  do  in  prayer.  They  reverenced  his 
spirit,  and  by  their  obeisance  they  implied 
that  they  held  his  memory  in  as  high  esteem 
as  they  had  held  him  when  he  was  a  living 
man. 

"Then  they  laid  their  offerings  on  the  floor 
below  the  little  image  in  its  gilded  case.  Ev- 
ery one  brought  something.  The  well-to-do 
gave  money,  others  cakes,  or  wine,  and  others 
bamboo  vases  full  of  red  or  white  flowers. 
46 


KASO. 

"Meanwhile,  the  good  wife  of  the  house  was 
busy  in  the  kitchen  preparing  food  for  the 
guests.  In  neighboring  kitchens,  too,  the  wom- 
en helped  with  this.  In  my  house  cooking  be- 
gan early  in  the  morning  and  the  maids  kept 
at  it  all  day  long.  When  the  cooking  was  over 
there  was  more  food  than  I  ever  saw  before; 
raw  fish,  sugared  fish,  cuttle  fish,  seaweed 
soups  and  cold  boiled  rice  rolled  up  in  sea- 
weed with  a  dab  of  horseradish  in  the  centre. 

The  feasting  lasted  till  noon  next  day,  when 
it  was  time  to  go  to  the  temple. 

The  old  man's  body  the  priests  saw  put  into 
a  jar  shaped  like  a  huge  flower-pot,  with  fra- 
grant leaves  pressed  in  round  about  it.  When 
all  was  ready  for  the  procession  the  mourners 
put  the  jar  in  a  box  covered  with  a  white 
cloth.  White  is  the  mourning  color  in 
Japan,  and  some  white  robed  attendants  from 
the  temple  carried  it  off  on  a  stretcher  on 
their  shoulders. 

"Just  ahead  of  the  jar  walked  a  company  of 
singers  with  bells.  They  were  in  white  also. 
In  fact,  we  were  all  white,  except  the  old  man's 
son,  my  landlord.  He  had  on  a  wonderful 
dress  suit  made  after  the  foreign  patternj 
much  too  large  for  him  and  lined  with  pink 
47 


TALES  FROM  TOKICX 

silk.  The  trousers  were  rolled  up  about  a 
foot  on  each  leg  and  fitted  as  though  they 
were  on  'hind  side  first.' 

"His  hat  was  odd,  too.  It  was  of  the  good 
old  stovepipe  design,  running  straight  up  at 
.the  sides  with  a  broad  flat  brim. 

It  was  fortunate  for  my  friend  that  he  had 
ears,  or  his  hat  would  have  reached  down  to 
his  shoulders.  He  had  a  homeless  appear- 
ance in  this  outfit,  that  was  almost  as  distress- 
ing as  it  was  amusing. 

"I  was  in  the  procession,  of  course.  I  wore 
a  white  duck  suit  and  rode  in  a  jinrikisha.  At 
the  temple  the  bearers  put  the  jar  on  an  altar, 
and  a  dozen  priests  chanted  a  service.  As  the 
chanting  went  on  each  guest  stepped  for- 
ward in  turn,  and  after  bowing  to  the  priests 
knelt  before  the  bier  and  salaaming,  took  a 
pinch  of  powdered  incense  from  a  bowl  and 
dropped  it  into  a  charcoal  brazier,  in  which  a 
tiny  fire  burned.  Then  with  another  pro- 
longed salaam  the  mourning  guest  returned 
to  his  seat.  This  was  a  sort  of  'goodby'  to 
the  body  and  a  salutation  to  the  spirit  of  the 
ancient  gentleman. 

"When  my  turn  came,  I  put  my  fingers  ab- 
sent mindedly,  into  the  brazier  and  burned 
4? 


KASO. 

them,  and  then  in  confusion  put  too  much 
incense  on  the  fire,  vvlxich  made  such  a  smoke 
that  the  priests  and  I  had  a  coughing  fit. 
Afterward  I  explained  that  we  always  did  that 
way  at  home.  We  burned  our  fingers  a  little 
to  purify  them,  and  the  last  man  always  dump- 
ed on  all  the  incense  that  was  left  so  that  the 
corpse  wouldn't  think  that  we  weren't  gener- 
ous. Since  then  I  have  been  regarded  in 
Etchiu  as  one  learned  in  holy  things. 

"After  this  ceremony  and  the  sneezing  was 
over  we  took  the  dead  man  to  a  crematory, 
the  only  kind  of  Japanese  building  that  has  a 
chimney. 

"Fire  was  under  this  oven  and  the  younger 
priests  were  setting  a  banquet  more  elaborate 
if  possible  than  what  had  been  served  in  the 
house,  with  sake  in  shallow  drinking  cups  of 
red  laquer.  We  seated  ourselves  on  small 
cushions  laid  on  the  mats.  I  sat  like  the  others 
on  my  heels.  My  landlord  protested.  'You 
are  a  foreigner,'  said  he,  'and  are  doing  me 
such  an  overwhelming  honor  by  coming  here 
to-day  that  I  cannot  reconcile  myself  to  the 
idea  of  your  placing  your  august  body  in  a 
position  so  uncomfortable.  We  are  used  to 
it.  Augustly  condescend  to  act  in  accordance 
49 


TALES  FROM  TOK1O. 

with  the  request  which  I  have  had  the  gross 
effrontery  to  make?'  I  persisted  however  in 
sitting  native  fashion  and  had  cramps  in  each 
leg  afterwards,  much  to  the  amusement  of  the 
other  guests. 

"The  priests  took  the  body  from  the  jar, 
and,  having  wrapped  it  carefully  in  white, 
they  put  it  on  an  iron  grating  and  slid  it  far 
back  into  the  furnace,  yet  where  all  could  get 
a  good  view  of  it.  The  flames  curled  round 
it  fiercely  at  first  and  then  almost  tenderly,  as 
though  caressing  it.  Once  in  a  while  they 
would  lash  furiously  and  tie  themselves  in 
fantastic  knots  about  the  limbs  which  bent 
and  unbent  and  quivered,  as  though  life  were 
not  yet  extinct  and  they  could  feel  the  terrible 
heat. 

"And  while  the  venerable  departed  writhed 
and  roasted  in  the  flames  we  banquetted.  It 
was  grewsome.  Now  and  then  one  of  the 
old  man's  progeny  would  go  to  the  oven  and 
turn  him  over  with  an  iron  rod  to  'do'  him 
better  on  the  other  side,  or  would  straighten 
him  out  so  that  the  fire  could  get  at  him  bet- 
ter. 

"I  had  always  been  in  favor  of  crema- 
tion, but  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  liked  sitting  there 


KASO. 

watching  a  man  kink  up  and  splutter  while 
his  relatives  turned  him  like  a  carcass  on  the 
spit. 

"I  had  recourse  to  the  sake  to  steady  my 
nerves.  Sake  is  about  the  strength  of  sherry, 
so  that  if  you  drink  enough  of  it,  especially 
hot  sake,  you  will  produce  an  effect.  I  pro- 
duced one  in  the  crematory.  Every  time  any 
one  offered  me  a  cup  I  took  it  and  poured 
the  contents  into  me.  It  is  the  custom  to  ex- 
change cups,  you  know.  You  rinse  your  cup 
and  offer  it  to  whomever  you  wish.  You 
must  offer  it  once  at  least  to  every  one  pres- 
ent, and  you  always  receive  a  cup  in  return. 
There  were  twenty-nine  of  us  at  the  funeral, 
I  had  two  drinks  with  each  one  of  them! 

"I  told  my  host  that  when  my  time  came 
he  must  see  that  I  was  properly  cremated. 
He  replied  that  it  would  be  too  great  an  honor 
for  him.  'You  had  much  better  come  to  cook 
me,'  he  said.  Finally  we  decided  that  which- 
ever went  over  first  the  other  should  burn 
him  and  that  the  town  should  have  sake 
enough  to  swim  in.  We  agreed,  however, 
not  to  die  before  we  were  88. 

"  -Just  see  how  beautifully  my  father  burns,' 
my  landlord  said,  because  of  his  lucky  age.' 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

"  'Wait  till  you  see  me  sizzle,'  I  replied, 
You  wil  be  amazed.  I  intend  to  go  off  like 
a  keg  of  powder.'" 


JUNSA. 


JUNSA. 

THE  Japanese  "cop"  is  a  gentleman  by 
birth,  a  model  of  courteous  dignity  and  a 
good  fighter,  in  consideration  of  which  the 
Government  gives  him  six  yen  a  month,  or 
about  three  dollars.  He  comes  from  the 
highest  of  the  social  grades — the  samurai — 
and  until  1871  was  a  military  retainer  of  a 
daimyo,  as  the  feudal  lords  were  called  who 
ruled  over  the  provinces  of  Japan.  He  was 
born  to  the  use  of  the  sword,  and  even  now, 
except  in  treaty  ports,  it  is  his  weapon  of  de- 
fense and  badge  of  office,  though  it  is  rare  that 
he  is  compelled  to  use  it. 

Samurai,  according  to  Basil  H.  Chamberlain, 
is  best  translated  "military  class," "warriors" 
or  "gentry."  Recently  the  Chinese  word 
"shizoku,"  of  precisely  the  same  meaning,  is 
in  vogue.  The  samurai  lived  in  the  daimyo's 
castle,  and  received  annually  an  allowance  of 
so  many  koku  of  rice,  according  to  his  im- 
portance and  the  richness  of  the  province.  A 
55 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

koku  is  a  little  over  five  bushels.  Japanese 
still  reckon  incomes  in  koku. 

The  samurai's  business  was  to  be  a  gentle- 
man. In  old  Japan  all  gentlemen  must  be 
soldiers  and  all  soldiers  gentlemen.  To-day 
it  would  not  be  quite  wrong  to  say  policeman. 
The  samurai  attended  his  daimyo  on  all  oc- 
casions and  fought  for  him  whenever  there 
was  trouble  with  another  daimyo.  He  was  the 
embodiment  of  loyalty,  and  would  give  his 
life  deliberately  to  revenge  an  insult  to  his 
lord. 

Mitford's  "Tale  of  the  Forty-seven  Ronins" 
shows  how  he  could  do  this.  The  ronins 
were  samurai  without  a  master.  In  Mitford's 
story,  which  relates  a  fact  of  Japanese  history, 
they  carried  out  a  scheme  of  vengeance  re- 
quiring months  of  preparation,  knowing  all 
the  while  that,  whether  they  failed  or  succeed- 
ed, the  Shogun  would  sentence  them  to  "hara- 
kiri." 

So  to-day  the  samurai,  with  all  the  instincts 
of  ancient  chivalry  and  three  dollars  a  month 
salary,  promenades  the  highways  and  byways 
of  Dai  Nippon,  armed  with  a  sabre  and  a  ball 
of  twine  and  preserves  order  the  like  of  which 
no  other  country  in  the  world  maintains.  The 
56 


JUNSA. 

sabre  is  in  lieu  of  a  policeman's  "billy,"  and 
the  twine  instead  of  handcuffs. 

It  is  interesting  to  watch  the  "cop"  as  he 
deftly  weaves  a  net  about  his  captive  until  he 
looks  as  though  he  were  wrapped  up  in  a 
hammock.  This  weaving  has  an  esoteric 
significance,  doubtless,  as  no  need  of  doing 
it  is  manifest.  Etiquette  in  Japan  is  against  a 
captive's  trying  to  escape  after  he  has  been 
informed  courteously  that  he  is  under  arrest, 
and  must  accompany  his  captor  to  the  police 
station. 

The  policeman  always  says,  "Go  men  nasai" 
— "August  pardon  deign" — and  the  culprit,  as 
he  stands  patiently  to  be  woven  in,  replies, 
"Do  itashi  mashite" — "Oh  don't  mention  it." 
When  the  weaving  is  over  the  "cop"  has  the 
culprit  on  a  string,  and,  holding  one  end 
thereof,  escorts  him  to  the  station,  where  the 
captor  salutes  his  chief  in  military  style  and 
the  captive  bows  low  and  declares  he  is  mor- 
tified to  be  the  cause  of  so  much  trouble. 
Both  ends  of  the  string  are  heard  from,  and 
the  chief  then  decides  whether  to  fine  or  to 
dismiss  or  to  hold  the  offender  for  further 
examination. 

The  policeman  wears  a  military  uniform— 
57 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

white  in  summer  and  blue  in  winter.  He  al- 
ways salutes  when  a  foreigner  speaks  to  him, 
and  will  walk  a  half-mile  with  one  to  show 
him  his  way.  He  will  not  accept  a  tip.  His 
instincts  and  the  rules  of  the  Police  Depart- 
ment forbid;  and  then  besides,  there  is  the 
Government  pay — three  dollars  a  month,  on 
which  he  feeds  and  clothes  his  family. 

He  will  take  charge  of  a  foreigner  in  search 
of  an  hotel  and  escort  him  to  the  best  lodg- 
ings to  be  had,  and  he  will  caution  mine  host 
against  overcharging  the  guest.  In  the  month- 
ly bazaars  that  are  held  in  the  streets  leading 
to  various  temples  in  Tokio,  the  "cop"  is  ever 
watchful  lest  the  dealers  ask  too  much  for 
their  wares.  So  vigilant  is  he  that  the  stranger 
often  gets  a  better  bargain  than  the  native. 

One  of  them,  through  clever  detective  work, 
secured  over  one  thousand  yen  that  a  native 
had  stolen  from  an  American  and  refused  the 
gift  of  money  that  gratitude  prompted.  After 
much  persuasion,  however,  he  accepted  a 
kimono,  after  the  American  had  received 
special  permission  from  the  Police  Depart- 
ment to  make  the  present. 

In  Yokohama  and  other  treaty  ports  the 
policeman  does  not  carry  a  sabre,  but  is  armed 
58 


JUNSA. 

with  a  "billy,"  as  are  policemen  in  the  United 
States.  He  is  as  dextrous  in  the  use  of  this 
as  he  is  with  the  sabre.  Professor  Norman, 
late  of  the  Imperial  Naval  College  of  Japan, 
who  has  studied  fencing  of  all  sorts  in  Eng- 
land, France,  Germany,  Austria,  Turkey,  Per- 
sia, Siam,  China  and  Ninpon  says  that  the 
Japanese  policeman  is  the  most  dextrous 
swordsman  living. 

Even  with  his  club  he  will  enter  a  Yoko- 
hama drinking  place  where  a  half-dozen  men- 
o'-war's  men  are  having  a  rough-and-tumble 
fight  and  "pinch  the  bunch"  with  celerity  and 
ease.  Jack  has  a  wholesome  dread  of  the 
little  man  in  blue,  and  trembles  when  he  sees 
the  "billy."  It  is  an  odd  sight  to  see  him  stag- 
gering to  the  station  house  in  charge  of  a  man 
whom  it  would  seem  he  could  pack  under  his 
arm.  It  is  like  an  ant  taking  home  a  beetle. 

The  entire  police  force  in  Japan  is  under 
a  single  head,  with  the  chief  offices  in  Tokio 
and  a  sub-department  in  each  province. 

The  chief  is  a  man  of  extraordinary  powers. 
His  officers  command  such  respect  as  only 
military  men  enjoy  in  Europe,  and  the  entire 
system  is  as  efficient,  probably,  as  can  be 
found  in  the  world  to-day. 
59 


CHO  KIMI  MAKE,  HAN  BOKU  KACHI. 


CHO  KIMI  MAKE,  HAN    BOKU  KACHI. 


Japanese  are  loyal,  brave,  courteous  and 
hospitable,  but  fair  play  as  Americans  and 
English  understand  it  does  not  appeal  to  them. 
This  lack  of  perception  shows  itself  in  many 
places — in  the  law  court,  in  commercial  trans- 
actions, and  even  in  athletic  sports.  As  a  class 
Japanese  merchants  have  hardly  more  than  a 
vestige  of  commercial  integrity.  The  foreign 
merchants  in  Yokohama,  Kobe  and  Nagasaki 
will  allow  them  none  whatever,  and  when  he 
holds  forth  on  native  business  ways  his  lan- 
guage is  more  vigorous  than  polite. 

He  cites  instances  of  bad  faith  on  the  part 
of  Japanese  he  has  had  dealings  with  that  jus- 
tify him  in  his  opinion,  and  show  that  native 
tradesmen  in  the  Mikado's  Empire  are  as  ir- 
responsible as  children.  This  is  not  strange, 
however,  when  one  looks  into  the  social  con- 
ditions that  have  maintained  in  Japan  from 
time  immemorial  down  to  the  edict  of  1 87 1 ,  by 
which  the  government  abolished  castes.  Until 
63 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

this  edict  took  effect  merchants  were  at  the 
foot  of  the  ladder;  above  them  were  the  farm- 
ers; above  the  farmers  the  craftsmen,  the 
creators  of  the  exquisite  art  of  Japan;  and  then 
higher  yet  the  Samurai,  the  military  retainers 
of  the  daimiyos,  or  fudal  lords  who  ruled  the 
provinces  until  the  Shogun  resigned  and  the 
Mikado  came  out  of  his  retirement  in  Kioto 
and  established  himself  in  Tokio.  In  the 
presence  of  a  Samurai  a  merchant  could  not 
call  his  life  his  own.  He  had  only  his  wit  or 
cunning  to  depend  upon.  He  had  no  redress 
whatever  against  anything  the  man  of  war 
might  do.  The  Samurai  might  cut  him  in 
two;  there  would  be  one  less  merchant  for 
the  next  census  to  report.  The  law  would  not 
call  a  member  of  the  military  class  to  account 
for  merely  trying  his  sword,  and  anyway,  mer- 
chants should  be  patient  and  respectful.  So 
it  was  that  society  had  denied  honor  to 
trade  folk  for  so  long  a  time  that  the  sense  of 
fairness,  if  it  ever  existed  in  their  minds,  had 
atrophied. 

One  might  as  well  expect  a  youngster  four 
years  old  to  realize  the  moral  obligation  of  a 
promise  as  to  expect  a  native  Japanese  mer- 
chant to  do  as  he  has  agreed  to  do  merely  for 
64 


CHO  KIMI  MAKE,  HAN  BOKU  KACHI. 

the  sake  of  keeping  his  word.  His  mind 
changes  as  the  child's  mind — as  blithely  and  as 
unreasonably.  This  is  a  Japanese  trait,  and 
discovers  itself  in  all  classes  of  society.  For 
instance,  the  spokesman  of  a  class  in  the  Dai 
Gakko,  the  imperial  university  of  Japan,  which 
had  entered  upon  the  study  of  American  his- 
tory with  ardor,  addressed  the  professor  after 
the  third  lesson:  "Please,  Honorable  Master, 
we  wish  not  to  peruse  the  grand  American 
history  further;  we  would  rejoice,  instead,  to 
read  how  balloons  are  made." 

So  the  merchant  who  has  ordered  a  thou- 
sand bolts  of  flannel  at  the  agency  of  some 
foreign  house  is  likely  to  appear  a  few  days 
later,  after  a  chance  meeting  with  a  friend 
and  a  little  chat  on  "business,"  to  say  he 
does  not  care  for  flannel,  but  thinks  he  will 
have  a  dozen  cows  to  start  a  health  farm  with. 
On  the  morrow  he  may  have  changed  again 
and  be  eager  for  Waterbury  watches  or  "mus- 
tache-producing elixir."  Should  the  agent 
say  it  was  too  late  to  change,  as  he  had  or- 
dered the  flannel,  the  gentle  native  would  say, 
"O  kino  doku  sama," — August  sorry,  mister 
r,  freely  translated,  "the  joke  is  on  you." 

The  agent,  if  he  is  a  griffin,  may  explain 
65 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

that,  having  ordered  the  goods,  it  would  be 
dishonorable  to  withdraw.  "That,  augustly 
is  honorably  existing  truth,"  replies  the  de- 
ferential little  Jap,  "but  I  do  not  wish  flannel. 
I  would  have  cows  and  Waterbury  watches 
and  elixir." 

"But  you  should  have  warned  me  earlier," 
says  the  griffin.  "The  order  has  been  cabled 
already.  I  cannot  change  it  now.  The  goods 
are  on  the  way." 

'•So  augustly,  probably,  honorably  it  may 
be,"  observes  the  native,  bowing  low. 

"If  you  do  not  accept  the  goods  I  shall  be 
embarrassed,"  continues  the  agent. 

"Saio  de  gozaimasho,"  observes  the  native, 
as  before. 

4  And  I  trust  you  will  honor  your  order,' 
continues  the  griffin. 

"That  is  quite  impossible,  as  I  have  chang- 
ed my  mind,"  and  with  another  profound 
salaam  the  little  one  smiles  cheerfully  and 
withdraws,  leaving  the  agent  wrapped  in  a 
realizing  sense  of  that  most  frequent  of  all 
Japanese  expressions,  "Shikata  ga  nai,"  which 
means,  literally,  "doing-way  is  not;"  or,  as  the 
Yankee  hath  it,  "It  is  no  use  kicking." 

So,  in  the  early  days  of  Japan's  trade  with 
66 


CHO  KIMI  MAKE,  HAN  BOKU  KACHI. 

foreign  countries  the  agents  in  the  treaty 
ports  were  badly  used,  and  the  "godowns" 
accumulated  stuffs  from  all  parts  of  the  world 
that  had  been  ordered  from  abroad  in  good 
faith,  but  which  the  native  merchants  would 
not  accept  on  arrival,  as  their  minds  had 
changed.  Even  if  the  native  signed  a  con- 
tract and  affixed  his  signature,  it  made  no  dif- 
ference. He  did  not  look  upon  himself  as 
bound  in  any  way  to  take  what  he  did  not 
care  for.  "How  odd  to  insist  when  I  no 
longer  wish  the  stuff,"  he  would  say.  "These 
barbarians  are  strange  folk.  They  would  really 
inconvenience  me." 

Thus  a  contract  came  to  mean  in  the  for- 
eign eye  nothing  more  than  a  memorandum 
to  be  ignored,  unless  a  cash  deposit  went  with 
it  as  a  guarantee.  This  cash  deposit  is  not 
an  absolute  safeguard  against  bad  faith,  how- 
ever, because  of  the  competition  among  the 
foreign  agencies.  The  Japanese  merchants 
have  been  cunning  enough  to  take  advantage 
of  this  competition,  and  by  going  from  one 
agent  to  another,  are  able  sometimes  to  work 
the  cash  guarantee  well  down  toward  the 
vanishing  point. 

They  themselves  are  not  so  hampered,  for 
67 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

they  belong  to  one  and  the  same  guild. 
Competition  is  nil,  for  they  work  in  harmony. 
But  the  foreign  merchants,  representing  many 
different  nationalities,  have  so  far  been  quite 
unable  to  unite  or  to  agree  on  any  method 
of  concerted  action  for  mutual  protection. 
Time  and  again  the  Europeans  have  tried, 
but  the  North  and  South  of  Europe  do  not 
trust  each  other,  and  there  has  been  bad  faith 
after  each  attempt  to  organize. 

The  Japan  Daily  Mail  is  strongly  pro-Japan- 
ese, but  often  it  has  had  occasion  to  scold  the 
natives  on  their  lack  of  honest  business 
methods.  One  merchant,  a  gentleman  of 
wide  experience  and  culture,  writing  to  the 
Mail,  declared  that  in  twenty-five  years'  deal- 
ing with  the  Japanese  he  had  not  found  one 
native  merchant  trustworthy.  Indeed,  only  one 
native  in  all  Japan  had  foreign  credit,  and  this 
distinguished  exception  owned  a  bank  in 
Paris,  which  gave  him  financial  standing  in 
European  markets. 

There  are  two  large  stock  companies  en- 
tirely in  the  hands  of  Japanese  in  Osaka 
whose  purchasing  agents  are  trusted  to  some 
extent,  because  foreigners  believe  these  buy- 
ers are  not  personally  interested  in  the  orders 
68 


CHO  KIMI  MAKE,  HAN  BOKU  KACHI. 

they  give;  but  even  these  men  will  bear  watch- 
ing. 

All  the  stock  companies  are  formed  under 
the  direction  of  an  advisory  board,  and  would 
appear  in  many  cases  to  be  devised  for  the 
bleeding  of  the  stockholders.  The  boards  of 
directors  have  had  complete  control  and  have 
managed  the  business  to  their  own  advantage. 

One  lager  beer  brewery  company,  for  in- 
stance, which  sells  beer  throughout  the  em- 
pire, doing  an  enormous  business,  has  not 
paid  dividends,  because  the  profits  were  eaten 
up  in  buying  bottles.  Bottles  are  still  beyond 
the  making  of  the  glassworks  of  Japan,  so  the 
directors  bought  supplies  abroad  and  sold 
them  to  the  company  at  the  modest  advance 
of  six  hundred  per  cent. 

Another  lot  of  directors,  who  were  the 
dummies  of  one  of  Tokio's  millionaires,  put 
up  a  factory  under  American  supervision  and 
fitted  it  with  elaborate  machinery  for  making 
hats.  The  machinery,  bought  in  England, 
was  charged  to  the  company  at  £5  los.  to  each 
£i  spent.  The  Englishman  and  American 
engaged  to  oversee  the  work  were  to  receive 
a  certain  percentage  of  the  dividends  in  part 
payment  of  salary. 

69 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

The  hat  business  was  dull  on  account  of 
low  duties  on  manufactured  hats  and  a  gen- 
eral disinclination  on  the  part  of  natives  to 
wear  anything  closer  to  the  head  than  an 
umbrella.  (Hats  are  not  indigenous  to  Japan, 
the  Japanese  word  for  hat  is  "shappo,"  from 
the  French  "chapeau,"  and  has  the  same  pro- 
nunciation.) Prospects  for  dividends  were 
not  encouraging,  but  the  directors  were  in- 
structed to  make  profits  somehow.  Only  they 
themselves  know  what  they  did;  but  the  fac- 
tory burned  down  one  night,  and  the  next  day 
they  gave  a  grand  picnic  to  all  employes. 

They  distributed  tons  of  rice  and  sake 
broadcast,  and  all  that  part  of  the  imperial 
city  celebrated  in  honor  of  "Tokio  no  hana.'' 
Then  the  directors  ordered  new  machinery 
from  London,  charged  it  to  the  company  at 
the  rate  of  seven  to  one,  and  held  it  in  Yoko- 
hama until  the  stockholders  paid  up  even  to 
the  last  mo.  A  mo=.oooi  Mexican. 

After  that  they  made  money  on  the  fur  and 
wool  they  sold  to  the  company,  bothering 
themselves  not  at  all  about  the  stockholders, 
and  the  foreigners,  seeing  no  dividends  forth- 
coming, resigned  and  returned  to  their  re- 
spective countries. 

70 


CHO  KIMI  MAKE,  HAN  BOKU  KACHL 

Japanese  courts  recognize  the  lack  of  busi- 
ness sense  and  training  on  the  part  of  those 
who  appear  before  them  and  deal  paternally 
with  the  contestants.  The  interested  parties 
go  over  the  contracts  and  agreements  care- 
fully and  fully  explain  everything  to  the  best 
of  their  ability.  Then  the  Court  investigates 
the  conditions  under  which  the  contract  would 
be  carried  out  if  the  contractor  should  go  on 
with  his  work. 

If  he  finds  no  obstacles  in  the  way  of  ful- 
filling the  contract  he  decides  against  the 
contractor;  but  if  he  finds  the  contractor  had 
miscalculated  and  would  lose  money  were 
he  to  go  on,  the  Court  decides  in  his  favor,  as 
manifestly  it  would  be  a  hardship  to  force  a 
man  to  work  without  profit.  The  Court  com- 
miserates with  the  man  that  let  the  contract 
and  says,  "Oki  no  doku  sama,"  but  it  also  adds, 
"Shikata  ga  ni."  So  the  man  must  make  a 
new  contract  and  be  more  considerate  of  the 
contractor  if  he  would  have  the  work  done. 

All  this  is  in  great  contrast  to  the  methods 
of  the  Chinese  whom  the  Japanese  despise. 

The  traveler  in  Japan  will  notice  many 
Chinese  holding  positions  of  trust  in  the  for- 
eign business  houses,  but  seldom  will  he  find 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

a  native  so  employed.  In  the  banks,  for  in- 
stance, the  "shraff," — the  man  who  counts  the 
money — is  almost  invariably  a  Chinese.  So 
are  the  "compadores,"  who  have  charge  of 
the  "godowns,"  or  warehouses.  The  China- 
man stands  high  in  the  estimation  of  the  for- 
eign merchant.  His  spoken  word  is  taken 
without  question  even  where  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  dollars  are  involved,  when  the  most 
explicit  contract  in  writing,  signed  and  stamp- 
ed with  the  Japanese  merchant's  seal,  would 
be  valueless,  except  as  a  memorandum. 

This  is  because  the  Chinese  has  a  concep- 
tion of  fairness  that  the  Japanese  has  not.  The 
Chinese  merchant  realizes  the  value  of  credit. 
His  credit  is  his  "face,"  and  he  will  sacrifice 
everything  to  "save  his  .face."  He  believes 
that  a  bargain  is  fair  when  it  is  fair  to  both 
parties,  and  he  believes  that  promises  must 
be  kept.  He  does  not  "put  up  bad  money 
against  good." 

One  of  the  Hong  Kong  and  Shanghai  Bank- 
ing Corporation's  managers  said:  "From  my 
personal  experience  I  believe  the  Chinese 
bankers  and  merchants  are  the  most  trust- 
worthy folk  in  the  world.  Our  bank  in  Shang- 
hai, for  instance,  has  done  a  business  with 
72 


CHO  KIMI  MAKE,  HAN  BOKU  KACHI. 

the  Chinese  in  the  past  twenty-five  years 
amounting-  probably  to  more  than  400,000,000 
taels  [$320,000,000],  and  we  have  not  met  a 
Chinese  defaulter  yet." 

Agreements  between  Japanese  do  not  hold 
unless  part  of  the  sum  indicated  in  the  papers 
has  been  paid.  The  contract  of  itself  is  nothing. 

When  it  comes  to  sports  fair  play  is  again 
conspicuous  by  its  absence.  On  Sumida  Gawa, 
which  flows  through  Tokio,  there  is  an  an- 
nual regatta  with  the  coming  of  the  cherry 
blossoms.  For  miles  the  north  bank  of  the 
river  is  nearly  hidden  under  rich  pink  clouds 
of  "sakura  no  hana."  There  is  not  in  the 
world  a  more  beautiful  sight,  but  the  wrath 
of  the  defeated  crews  does  not  mollify  thereby. 

They  accuse  their  successful  rivals  of  all 
baseness,  calling  them  swine  and  reptiles. 
The  coaches  of  winning  crews  are  seldom  in 
evidence  on  such  occasions — at  least,  not  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  crews  they  helped  to  de- 
feat. Mr.  Salabelle  of  Yokohama,  who  had 
coached  the  crew  of  the  Business  College  one 
year,  was  in  danger  of  his  life  because  his 
crew  had  learned  something  from  him  and 
had  gone  ahead  of  the  other  oarsmen. 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Eby's  experience  at  the  Koto 
73 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

Chu  Gakko  is  another  illustration  of  the  Jap- 
anese attitude  in  sport.  The  learned  doctor, 
who  was  then  the  head  of  a  large  mission 
school,  had  developed  creditable  baseball  and 
cricket  teams  among  his  pupils.  He  went  up 
from  Tsukiji  one  afternoon  to  the  college 
grounds  to  see  and  encourage  his  boys  to 
go  in  and  win.  The  Koto  Chu  Gakko  students 
considered  this  highly  improper,  as  it  might 
lead  to  their  defeat.  Therefore,  they  laid  for 
the  reverend  gentleman,  and  when  he  ap- 
peared on  a  path  that  led  to  a  break  in  the 
low  bamboo  fence  along  the  south  side  of  the 
college  grounds,  they  stabbed  him. 

The  college  authorities  did  not  move  in  the 
matter,  nor  did  the  doctor  complain;  but  the 
foreigners,  both  in  and  out  of  missionary 
circles  in  Tokio  and  in  Yokohama,  raised 
such  a  protest  that  something  had  to  be  done. 
The  students  responsible  for  the  act  were 
ordered  to  apologize,  and  on  their  doing  so 
Dr.  Eby  said  he  was  quite  satisfied. 

The  college  professor's  comment  was  that 
as  long  as  the  doctor  hnd  got  the  worst  of  it 
he  should  rest  content.  The  students  said  he 
had  no  grounds  for  complaint,  as,  instead  of 
going  around  to  the  college  gate  (a  distance 
74 


CHO  KIMI  MAKE,  HAN  BOKU  KACHI. 

of  half  a  mile),  he  had  been  guilty  of  such  a 
breach  of  etiquette  as  to  climb  the  fence. 
Inasmuch  as  the  fence  at  that  point  was 
broken  and  a  well-beaten  path  in  daily  use 
by  the  students  ran  through  this  break,  the 
foreign  population  would  not  be  persuaded 
that  the  breach  of  etiquette  demanded  blood. 

For  years  the  president  of  one  of  the  clubs 
in  Tokio  prohibited  playing  games  for  money 
in  the  clubrooms.  He  had  enforced  the  rule 
with  the  utmost  strictness  and  to  the  entire 
satisfaction  of  the  foreign  members.  The 
purpose  of  the  club  was  to  bring  the  natives 
and  foreigners  into  closer  relations.  Its  presi- 
dent must  be  of  the  imperial  family.  All 
the  nobles  of  the  empire  belong,  all  the  di- 
plomatic corps  and  well-nigh  all  foreign  resi- 
dents of  any  claim  to  social  consideration. 

In  the  early  days,  before  foreigners  knew 
the  gentle  native  nature,  the  great  American 
game  was  tolerated  in  the  clubrooms.  Not 
for  long,  however,  for  it  was  discovered  that 
while  the  Japanese  enjoyed  winning  immense- 
ly they  took  it  badly  when  they  lost  and  were 
wonderfully  slow  on  settling  days.  They  were 
hard  losers,  though  the  cheerfullest  sort  of 
winners.  A  debt  of  "honor"  had  no  signifi- 
75 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

cance  in  their  eyes.  What  had  honor  to  do 
with  cards?  Honor  is  a  "sword-word";  and 
anyway  why  should  a  man  pay?  It  was  much 
jollier  to  be  paid;  better  to  receive  than  to  give 
as  the  Japanese  scripture  hath  it.  Soon  no 
foreigner  could  be  found  who  would  have 
anything  to  do  with  a  native  in  a  game  of 
chance,  and  presently  a  rule  was  voted 
unanimously  at  the  club  prohibiting  play  for 
money  altogether,  for  the  native  members 
were  up  to  their  knees  in  I.  O.  U's. 

In  the  tours  of  the  wrestlers,  who  give  won- 
derful exhibitions  of  their  art  in  the  chief 
towns  of  the  empire,  the  referee  has  to  take 
thought  in  his  decisions  lest  he  offend  the 
audience.  If  he  happens  to  be  in  Fukui,  for 
instance,  and  in  his  company  there  is  a  Fukui 
wrestler,  he  must  give  this  man  all  the  best 
of  the  decisions  or  the  populace  will  mob 
him.  The  man  may  be  pushed  out  of  the 
ring  and  thrown  among  the  spectators;  he 
may  be  all  out  of  form  and  not  able  to  wrestle 
a  little  bit;  but  the  referee,  if  he  would  leave 
Fukui  alive,  must  have  a  care  and  call  the 
other  wrestler  down  on  fouls,  no  matter  how 
fair  he  has  been.  Fukui  demands  that  Fukui 
have  the  decision,  and  that  settles  it. 
76 


OYASUMI  NASAI. 


OYASUMI  NASAL 


IN  JAPAN  you  don't  go  to  bed;  the  bed  comes 
to  you.  It  is  much  easier  that  way,  and  in 
Japan  the  easiest  way  is  the  only  way.  That 
is  one  reason  why  the  country  is  so  popular 
with  globe  trotters.  Nor  does  it  make  much 
difference  what  part  of  your  house  you  may 
be  in,  or  of  a  friend's  house  for  that  matter, 
or  a  tea  house  or  a  hotel;  if  you  are  drowsy 
the  bed  will  come  in  patty-pat,  and  be  spread 
out  before  you  at  a  moment's  notice. 

If  you  are  visiting,  your  host  will  detect 
your  inclination,  and  beg  you  to  honor  his 
house  by  taking  a  nap  therein.  Clapping  his 
hands,  he  calls  out:  "Futon  moto  koi" — "Quilts 
bring  here."  His  wife  is  prostrate  just  out- 
side the  room,  harkening  to  the  august  com- 
mand. In  two  minutes  she  will  be  toddling 
in  with  a  bundle  in  her  arms  much  larger 
than  herself,  a  huge,  thickly  wadded  quilt, 
called  a  futon,  which  she  rolls  out  over  the 
tatami,  the  soft  mattresses  covered  with  finely 
79 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

woven  bamboo  that  are  upon  all  floors  in 
Japanese  rooms,  excepting  only  the  daidoku, 
or  kitchen.  That  is  the  bed,  and  if  you  will 
condescend  augustly  to  arrange  your  honor- 
able body  on  anything  so  unworthy, Okamusan 
(the  sweet  little  wife)  will  be  bewildered  with 
the  honor. 

She  tells  you  so  in  a  sweet  voice  as  she 
kneels  and  presses  her  face  down  against  the 
backs  of  her  tiny  hands  on  the  tatami  before 
you.  You  protest  that  the  honor  is  with  you; 
that  it  is  indescribably  rude  in  you  to  venture 
to  think  of  polluting  so  magnificent  a  futon. 
Then  with  a  low  bow  you  stretch  yourself  out 
upon  it.  Okamusan  covers  you  with  another 
futon,  and,  doubling  up  again,  lisps:  "Oyasumi 
nasai" — "Condescend  to  enjoy  honorable  tran- 
quillity." 

Mine  host  says  the  weather  impresses  him 
as  being  such  as  to  encourage  nap-taking 
also,  and  soon  he  is  on  another  futon  lying 
peacefully  beside  you,  to  be  called  when  the 
bath  is  ready,  for  probably  it  is  afternoon 
when  all  Japan  has  a  siesta,  followed  by  a  dip 
in  the  furo  oke,  or  wooden  bathtub,  and  a 
rubdown  by  a  maid. 

Supposing  you  to  be  a  foreigner  who  has 
80 


OYASUMI  NASAL 

just  arrived,  and  therefore  a  "griffin,"  in 
Yokohama  slang,  your  first  night  in  Japan  is 
likely  to  be  a  new  experience,  especially  if 
you  are  just  from  the  "States,"  and  unfamiliar 
with  the  Far  East.  You  should  go  to  Tokio, 
the  capital  of  the  empire,  only  eighteen  miles 
by  rail  from  Yokohama,  and  put  up  at  a  na- 
tive inn,  where  the  servants  are  not  familiar 
with  foreign  ways,  and  will  treat  you  quite 
like  a  Japanese.  Do  not  take  lodgings  in 
Yokohama  until  you  have  been  inland.  It  is 
a  beautiful  city  on  the  Bay  of  Yedo  with  a 
charmingly  hospitable  community  made  up 
of  folk  from  Europe  and  America  but  it  is  not 
real  Japan.  In  Tokio  the  native  inn  will  be  a 
wonder  and  a  delight. 

Of  course  you  leave  your  shoes  outside  the 
door  on  entering,  for  the  delicate  texture  of 
the  bamboo  matting,  which  is  the  upper  sur- 
face of  the  tatami,  would  be  torn  by  boot 
heels.  If  your  feet  are  chilled  you  may  wear 
heelless  slippers,  but  the  native  way  is  the 
best.  That  is,  to  go  barefoot — a  good  pre- 
ventive against  colds  and  rheumatism,  or 
you  may  wear  tabi.  Tabi  are  the  native 
socks.  They  come  just  to  the  ankle  around 
which  they  fasten  with  hooks.  They  are 
81 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

shaped  like  a  mitten,  having  a  separate  pocket 
for  the  great  toe  just  as  mittens  have  for  the 
thumb.  Tabi  are  convenient,  because  when 
wearing  them  your  feet  fit  into  the  zori  (san- 
dals), and  geta,  or  wooden  clogs,  which  the 
Japanese  wear  out  of  doors  instead  of  shoes, 
and  you  may  amble  round  as  you  please.  The 
slit  in  the  tabi  between  the  great  toe  and  the 
other  toes  is  to  admit  the  thong  by  which  the 
geta  and  zori  are  held  to  the  foot.  When  your 
shoes  are  on  one  of  the  shelves  that  stand 
where  you  would  look  for  a  hat  rack  in  Amer- 
ica, a  maid  will  take  you  directly  to  your  room, 
along  with  your  luggage,  for  there  is  no  office 
in  which  to  stop  to  register. 

There  you  will  find  little  in  the  way  of  or- 
nament, and  no  furniture  at  all.  If  you  like 
you  may  have  some  brought  in.  There  may 
be  a  kakemono  hanging  in  the  alcove,  and  a 
gaku  over  one  of  the  cross  beams,  which 
hold  the  upper  slide  of  the  karakimi,  or  slid- 
ing paper  doors.  The  gaku  is  by  some  fam- 
ous chirographer,  and  bears  his  seal.  Likely 
enough  it  is  a  maxim  of  Confucius. 

As  there  are  no  chairs,  you  will  be  glad 
that  the  Japanese  floors  are  not  like  ours,  and 
that  the  tatami  are  really  soft.  You  will  have 
82 


OYASUMI  NASAL 

zabuton,  or  small  square  futon,  to  sit  on. 
They  are  agreeable,  but  you  will  soon  wonder 
what  to  do  with  your  legs  and  feet,  which 
you  will  discover  can  be  very  troublesome 
appendages.  If  only  you  could  hang  them 
over  somewhere,  even  down  a  hole.  But 
there  is  no  suitable  hole.  If  you  wish  a  table 
to  use  in  writing  down  your  "first  impres- 
sions," after  the  manner  of  most  griffins,  the 
maid  will  bring  you  one  a  foot  high,  which 
you  may  grow  used  to  writing  upon  if  you 
persevere.  If  it  is  toward  the  end  of  the  after- 
noon you  should  have  a  bath.  You  will  find 
it  amusing,  refreshing  and  possibly  embar- 
rassing. When  the  maid  has  scrubbed  your 
back  it  will  be  time  for  ban  meshi,  or  evening 
meal.  You  will  find  the  chopsticks  unexpect- 
edly easy  to  manage.  Soon  after  this,  as  you 
are  tired,  you  are  ready  for  the  bed  to  come 
to  you. 

As  you  are  not  used  to  sleeping  on  the 
floor  yet,  even  a  soft  one,  you  had  better 
order  "futon  ni  mai,"  or  if  you  are  tender, 
"sam  mai."  Ni  means  two  and  san  or  sam 
means  three.  Mai  is  an  auxiliary  numeral 
used  when  counting  flat  things. 

You  clap  your  hands  instead  of  pressing  the 
83 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

button  of  an  electric  bell,  and  from  far  back 
in  the  interior  of  the  house  comes  a  drawn- 
out  "hai-i-i-i,  tadaima."  "Hai"  is  only  a  signal 
cry  meaning  that  the  maid  hears  you.  It  does 
not  mean  yes.  "Tadaima,"  the  dictionaries 
say,  means  now,  just  now,  at  present  or  pres- 
ently. In  some  tea  houses,  you  will  find  it  is 
the  equivalent  of  the  Spanish  word  manana. 
Tokio  maids  are  quick,  however,  and  in  a 
moment  the  karakimi  slide  to  one  side  and  a 
little  body  is  kneeling-  without,  awaiting  orders. 

You  wish  to  be  polite  and  say,  "Neimui 
desukara  ne.  Futon  motikutechodai;  ni  mai 
dozo."  (As  I  am  sleepy  bring  me  futon.  Two 
pieces,  please.)  "Hai,  kashiko  man  mashita" 
(august  commands  humbly  are  assented  to), 
replies  the  bright-eyed  maiden  as  she  bends 
low.  Then  with  a  "go  men  nasai"  (august 
pardon  deign)  she  pushes  the  karakimi  wide 
open,  and  calls  out,  "Ne  san,  chotto  oide. 
Sensei  ne  masu  desu  yo."  (Elder  sister,  come 
here  a  moment.  Honorable  master  would 
sleep!) 

Elder  sister,  who,  by  the  way,  is  as  likely  to 

be  the  younger  of  the  two,  comes  along  the 

veranda    from    the    kitchen,   her  bare  feet 

sounding  patty-pat  on  the  polished  wood.  She 

84 


OYASUMI  NASAL 

goes  to  the  wall  and  slides  open  the  door  of 
the  fukuro  dana,  or  cupboard,  which  you 
thought  was  the  entrance  to  another  room. 
There  are  the  futon  folded  up  on  a  horizontal 
shelf,  which  divides  the  cupboard  so  that  it 
looks  like  the  two  berths  of  a  stateroom  on 
board  ship. 

"Ni  mai  desu  ne,  dana  san?"  she  says.  (You 
want  two  pieces,  don't  you,  master?)  And 
then  with  the  sweetest  little  smile  and  her 
head  a  trifle  to  one  side  like  a  bird's,  she  asks: 
"Makura  futatsu,  desuka?"  Makura  is  pillow, 
and  she  asks  if  you  wish  two. 

The  futon  are  spread  out  one  upon  the 
other,  and  a  sheet,  perhaps,  is  laid  on  top. 
Sheets,  however,  are  new  to  Japan.  Then 
comes  the  big  ue  futon,  or  top  futon,  which 
is  longer  than  the  others,  and  has  sleeves 
like  a  huge  kimono.  It  would  just  fit  a  man 
ten  feet  high.  This  is  bunched  up  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed  ready  to  be  pulled  over  you 
when  you  have  laid  down. 

The  small  object  at  the  head  of  your  bed, 
which  looks  like  a  cigar  box  on  edge  sur- 
mounted by  a  roll  of  paper,  is  the  makura. 
No  one  need  envy  your  first  night's  experience 
with  it.  You  will  discover  that  your  head  is 
85 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

as  heavy  as  though  it  were  solid  lead,  and, 
therefore — which  is  all  the  comfort  you'll 
have  out  of  it,  for  the  discovering  process  is 
painful — that  it  cannot  possibly  be  empty.  You 
will  likely  dream  of  being  beheaded  or  un- 
headed,  and  of  falling  over  the  brinks  of 
precipice  after  precipice.  In  the  morning 
your  head  will  be  stationary,  for  the  hinges  of 
your  neck  will  be  too  rusty  to  turn  even  a 
little  bit.  It  will  take  time  to  master  the  ma- 
kura,  but  you  will  like  it  when  you  are  used 
to  it. 

If  you  examine  closely  you  will  see  that  it 
is  not  a  cigar  box,  but  a  truncated  pyramid, 
five  inches  high,  hollow,  with  a  rectangular 
base  and  a  groove  on  top,  in  which  lies  a 
slender  cushion  stuffed  with  bran.  Upon 
this  cushion  "  ne  san"  binds  a  few  layers  of 
paper,  which  are  changed  every  morning. 

There  is  a  drawer  at  one  end  of  the  ma- 
kura,  in  which  you  will  find  tobacco,  extreme- 
ly fine  cut  and  of  attenuated  flavor.  You 
may  take  ippuku — one  puff — as  the  Japanese 
say,  without  nervous  prostration.  There  may 
be  one  or  two  kiseru,  or  pipes,  in  the  drawer. 
If  not,  surely  there  are  on  the  tray  beside  the 
tabako  ban,  the  square  little  rosewood  box 
86 


OYASUMI  NASAL 

with  the  earthenware  hebachi,  or  brazier,  in 
it,  and  the  haifuki,  as  the  bamboo  tube  is 
called,  which  is  a  combination  of  ash  receiver 
and  cuspidor.  Bits  of  burning  charcoal  are 
in  the  hebachi  for  lighting  your  pipe.  The 
haifuki  is  for  ashes,  burnt  matches  and  the 
other  uses  of  a  cuspidor.  If  it  is  not  too  late 
in  the  season  you  will  need  a  kaya,  or  mos- 
quito net.  Ne  san  will  have  it  unfolded  and 
hung  up  by  cords  at  its  four  corners  in  al- 
most no  time.  It  is  always  green,  and  usually 
has  red  bindings.  When  you  are  inside  you 
will  be  well  shut  off  from  the  evening 
breezes  as  well  as  from  the  mosquitoes,  and 
will  not  feel  the  need  of  the  ue  futon. 

You  have  watched  the  proceedings  with 
amusement,  and  now  that  everything  seems 
ready  you  wonder  why  the  "elder  sisters" 
do  not  patter  back  to  the  kitchen.  But  all 
is  not  ready.  They  must  take  away  the 
rosoku,  or  paper-wicked  candles,  or  the  ram- 
pu — as  the  Japanese  pronounce  lamp — and 
put  the  night  lantern,  the  andon,  in  its  place. 
This  is  a  large,  square,  white  paper  affair, 
standing  on  a  frame  a  couple  of  feet  above 
the  tatami,  and  lighted  by  a  taper  which  juts 
out  over  the  edge  of  a  small  saucer  of  oil  of 
87 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

sesame  within.  While  you  are  waiting  and 
wondering  they  are  doing  the  same  thing. 
They  will  bring  the  night  lamp  as  soon  as 
you  are  safely  under  the  kaya.  "Why  doesn't 
the  honorable  master  undress?"  they  are  think- 
ing, and  you,  "Why  the  deuce  don't  those 
maids  go?"  A  Japanese  friend  explains  to 
you,  perhaps,  and  you  get  him  between  you 
and  them,  and,  partially  disrobing,  slip  under 
the  kaya.  Then  he  explains  your  trepidation 
to  the  ne  san,  and  all  three  have  a  great  laugh 
at  your  expense. 

Should  you  wish  to  go  out  to  look  at  the 
moon  or  to  study  the  weather  probabilities 
for  the  morrow,  or  the  asago,  which  is  Jap- 
anese for  morning  glory,  before  retiring,  ne 
san  accompanies  you  and  stands  patiently 
by  humming  an  old  love  tune.  She  has  a 
dipper  at  the  chosubachi,  and  will  pour 
water  for  you  to  wash  your  hands  and  will 
offer  you  a  brand  new  tenui  after  your  ablu- 
tions on  which  to  dry  yourself.  Ne  san  is  not 
an  imaginative  person.  She  guides  you  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  takes  good  care  of  you. 
She  sees  you  safely  in  bed,  and,  doubling 
up  into  a  little  bunch,  she  says  most  hum- 
bly: "Oyasumi  nasai."  Then  sh-sh-sh-click, 
88 


OYASUMI  NASAL 

the  karakimi  are  pushed  together,  and  you 
are  in  bed  in  Japan.  You'll  rather  like  it 
after  a  month's  experience. 

You  will  not  find  bedrooms  in  Japanese 
houses.  But  wherever  you  go  you  will  find 
futon  are  plentiful,  and  wherever  there  is 
space  for  one  there  you  may  have  a  bed.  The 
servants — men,  women,  boys  and  girls — sleep 
on  the  kitchen  floor,  or,  more  often,  on  the 
floor  of  the  room  opening  into  the  kitchen,  in 
a  long  row,  depending  on  the  size  of  the  room 
and  the  number  of  servants. 

In  a  first-class  tea  house  or  hotel,  if  you 
look  in  early  in  the  morning,  you  will  find 
several  rows  of  futon  reaching  quite  across 
the  main  room,  each  with  a  head  hanging  out 
comfortably  over  the  top  of  one  of  those  hol- 
low wooden  pillows.  To  the  Japanese  they 
are  rather  neck  rests  than  head  rests,  but  to 
the  foreign  mind  the  word  rest  is  not  applica- 
ble to  makura.  Except  in  the  case  of  young 
children,  no  two  people  are  on  the  same 
futon. 

Using  futon  and  the  floor  instead  of  bed- 
steads is  a  great  saving  of  house  space,  and 
convenient  in  many  ways.  The  futon  are 
easily  aired,  and  may  be  carried  about  readily 
89 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

when  moving.  In  case  of  fire  they  are  quickly 
packed  up  and  put  out  of  the  way.  They  are 
cheap,  except  those  used  by  the  rich,  which 
are  filled  with  pure  silk  wadding  and  covered 
with  heavy  silk.  Even  then  they  cost  less 
than  hair  mattresses  in  America. 

As  much  of  the  exterior  as  well  as  of  the 
interior  walls  of  Japanese  houses  are  sliding 
doors,  which  grow  loose  and  wabbly  with  the 
changing  of  the  seasons,  from  wet  to  dry  and 
then  to  wet  again,  and  with  the  shaking  of  the 
300  or  400  earthquakes  that  occur  each  year, 
there  is  no  lack  of  chinks  and  crevices  which, 
however  admirable  for  ventilation,  are 
rather  too  cooling  in  winter.  It  behooves  you 
to  have  heat  if  you  would  be  comfortable. 
The  Japanese  have  neither  furnaces  nor 
stoves.  They  make  no  attempt  to  heat  their 
houses,  but  they  try  to  keep  their  toes  and 
fingers  warm  by  means  of  a  kotatsu — that  is, 
a  square  hibachi  sunk  in  the  floor,  with  a 
wooden  frame  above  for  supporting  the  futon 
that  are  laid  over  it  out  of  danger  of  their 
burning.  In  winter  the  beds  are  arranged 
round  the  kotatsu,  and  consequently  for  the 
first  half  the  night  your  feet  are  in  an  oven, 
but  as  morning  approaches  and  the  charcoal 
90 


OYASUMI  NASAL 

fire  dwindles  the  oven  changes  and  is  more 
like  an  ice  box. 

When  you  give  a  party  to  your  friends,  and, 
the  wee  sma'  hours  approaching,  you  would 
fain  retire,  do  not  hesitate  to  do  so,  but  do 
not  hint  anything  thereof  to  your  guests. 
That  would  be  a  sad  breach  of  etiquette.  They 
own  the  house  while  they  are  there  and  all 
that  is  therein.  Your  course  is  quietly  to  dis- 
appear to  the  remotest  apartment  you  have 
and  call  the  bed  to  come  to  you.  It  is  good 
form  to  do  this,  for  it  allows  the  merriment  to 
continue  unrestrained.  Should  any  one  ask 
for  you  the  maids  will  say  that  you  are  just 
outside,  and  will  be  in  tadaima.  In  the  morn- 
ing if  your  sake  was  good  you  will  find  your 
friends  sleeping  sweetly  on  your  spare  futon, 
a  bed  having  gone  to  each  of  them,  by  the 
courtesy  of  ne  san. 


KANE  NAI  NAREIBA. 


KANE  NAI  NAREIBA. 


For  a  man  with  a  thirst  and  no  money  Yo- 
kohama is  a  joyous  place.  The  combination 
so  trying  in  America  is  of  no  inconvenience 
whatever  over  there,  rather  the  reverse,  be- 
cause the  petty  annoyances  incident  to  hav- 
ing money  always  in  one's  pockets  are  done 
away  with. 

You  are  always  "good  for  a  drink"  or  any- 
thing else,  and  if  you  do  not  look  too  much 
like  a  sailor — "a  Damyoureyes  San,"  as  the 
natives  say — and  are  able  to  write  your  name, 
you  are  "good"  for  whatever  you  may  wish. 
The  secret  of  all  this  is  chits.  Chits,  being 
interpreted,  means  "drinking  made  easy," — 
drinking  and  other  things. 

Chits  in  Yokohama  constitute  one  of  the 
pleasantest  curses  known  to  man.  Great  and 
wicked  was  the  brain  that  invented  them.  The 
owner  of  this  brain  is  already  responsible  for 
a  thousand  merry  wrecks.  Ten  thousand  men 
have  drunk  themselves  to  death  on  his  in- 
95 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

genious  plan.  He  killed  them  all  but  he  did 
it  with  a  liberality  of  manner  that  robbed 
death  of  its  sting. 

Public  opinion  in  Yokohama  is  not  pro- 
nounced enough  to  emphasize  the  line  be- 
tween the  use  and  the  abuse  of  chits.  And  so 
it  happens  that  men,  particularly  young  men, 
do  not  feel  the  restraint  they  would  were 
they  at  home.  They  are  a  jolly  lot,  fond  of 
out-door  life,  well  traveled  generally,  and  well 
read,  with  charming  manners,  and  hospitable 
with  a  frank  generosity  that  wins  at  once. 

They  have  leisure  beyond  the  dreams  of 
toilers  in  America — coming  down  to  work  at 
10  a.  m.  and  quitting  usually  at  3.  Out  of 
these  five  hours  at  least  one  and  a  half  are 
spent  at  the  United  Club  or  in  the  Grand  or 
the  Club  hotels,  where  chit  signing  is  indulged 
in  as  a  liberal  art. 

They  ride  their  own  horses  in  the  races 
twice  a  year.  When  the  races  are  on  all  busi- 
ness, even  banking,  is  at  a  standstill.  Wine 
flows  like  water,  but  no  money  is  in  sight.  If 
you  are  thirsty  you  sign  a  chit.  The  boys 
who  serve  the  drinks  are  not  to  be  trusted 
with  money.  They  push  the  bottle  toward 
you,  and  some  one  signs. 
96 


KANE  NAI  NAREIBA. 

If,  a  few  months  later,  you  wish  to  pay, 
you'll  have  some  trouble  in  finding  the  slip 
to  which  you  put  your  name.  You'll  go  from 
one  hotel  to  another,  and  at  each  the  man 
will  say: 

"I  don't  know.  They  may  be  here.  If  I 
find  them  I'll  send  them  up  to  you." 

If  you  are  sure  that  they  should  be  with 
him  you  may  give  him  money  and  he  will 
credit  you.  Then  you  own  the  place.  What- 
ever you  buy  thereafter  he  will  not  charge 
against  you,  but  will  say,  "That  goes  to  square 
us  for  what  you  paid  against  the  chits  I 
never  found." 

It  is  only  globe  trotters  that  have  cash  in 
their  pockets  in  Yokohama,  and  they  soon 
give  up  carrying  it  just  as  they  give  up  eating 
rice  currie  with  a  fork. 

Railway  people  and  beggars  are  the  only 
persons  who  don't  take  chits,  but  the  railroad, 
though  convenient,  is  not  necessary,  and  if 
one  believes  in  the  doctrine  similia  similibus 
curantur  nit  he  can  pass  beggars  by  also  and 
never  know  the  touch  of  filty  lucre.  If  you 
offer  the  money  to  the  barber  he  says,  "Oh, 
wait  till  the  end  of  the  month.  We  can't 
bother  making  up  cash  now.  Sign  a  chit." 
97 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

At  the  tailor's  you  are  asked,  "Shall  I  send 
the  goods  to  the  club,  or  to  your  hotel? 
We'll  send  you  a  memorandum  now,  and 
then  let  you  know  how  you  stand  with  us. 
But  that  is  not  a  bill,  you  know.  Just  let  that 
run  to  your  convenience,  please.  Send  a  chit 
when  you  like." 

The  jinrikisha  man  takes  a  chit  from  the 
house  to  which  he  has  delivered  you.  Every 
saloon  in  town  passes  out  the  little  pad  with 
the  pencil  hanging  from  one  corner.  Lodg- 
ings, meals,  everything  a  hotel  has  to  rent 
or  sell  to  its  guests,  may  be  signed  for  on  the 
chit.  Nor  is  there  anything  that  dives  can 
furnish  to  promote  delirium  or  to  coax  the 
coming  of  old  age  that  a  little  chit  won't  settle 
for. 

He  who  has  looked  on  the  wine  when  it 
is  red  and  has  studied  the  mockery  of  strong 
drink  need  not  moan  in  his  first  waking 
thoughts  with  despair  brought  on  by  the  re- 
collection that  his  last  penny  went  the  night 
before  unless,  alas!  he  is  too  shaky  to  hold 
the  little  pencil.  But  even  then  a  promise  to 
sign  later  will  bring  him  what  he  needs! 

There  are  settling  days,  of  course,  when  the 
residents  of  Yokohama  and  of  the  other  ports 


KANE  NAI  NAREIBA. 

like  it  in  the  Far  East,  arm  themselves  with 
courage  and  go  forth  bravely  to  pay  their 
chits.  Some  men  do  this  once  every  two 
years.  Others,  who  consider  themselves  pat- 
terns of  regularity,  square  up  the  first  of  each 
January.  Then  there  are  men  who  have  the 
names  of  the  places  where  their  chits  are 
held,  arranged  in  groups  and  each  group 
assigned  to  a  particular  month  of  the  year. 
At  the  first  of  each  month  they  settle  a 
part  of  their  debts.  The  system  keeps  chit 
holders  guessing,  though,  for  readjustments 
in  the  scheme  of  sorting  will  occur  even 
with  the  best-intentioned  men.  So  that  a 
holder  who  thought  his  money  would  come 
in  January  may  find  himself  mysteriously 
moved  into  the  December  class. 

Besides  these  annuals,  bi-annuals  and 
monthlies  there  is  a  class,  made  up,  it  is  said, 
of  those  who  do  not  pay  until  they  die.  These 
men  have  life  insurance  policies,  or  assurance 
policies,  to  speak  with  local  accuracy,  and 
being  thus  assured,  they  do  not  bother  who 
holds  tht  ir  chits,  or  whether  the  chits  were 
signed  ten  days  or  ten  years  ago.  There  are 
few  men,  however,  who  have  signed  chits 
steadily  for  ten  years.  Three  years  is  said  to 
99 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

be  the  average.  A  man  can  sign  a  barrelful 
in  that  time — a  barrelful  that  stands  for  many 
other  barrels  empty. 

When  the  assured  man  dies,  his  chits  ap- 
pear and  straightway  are  paid,  the  first  money 
collected  from  the  policy  going  for  this. 

The  number  of  chits  not  paid  is  large  con- 
sidered by  itself,  though  relatively  small.  It 
is  this  fact  of  which  the  penniless  man  takes 
advantage.  He  lives  luxuriously  on  the  fringe 
or  ragged  edge  of  the  crazy  quilt  of  chits 
until  he  loses  his  face  or  drinks  himself  into 
the  hereafter.  When  his  face  is  gone  he  may 
sign  no  longer.  He  drifts  into  the  Consul's 
hands  and  is  sent  home  steerage  at  Govern- 
ment expense.  He  may  so  dread  the  thought 
of  home  that  he  flees  to  the  natives,  with  the 
most  disreputable  of  whom  he  must  have 
some  acquaintance,  and  in  return  for  a  mod- 
icum of  seaweed  fish  and  rice  beer,  teaches 
Peter  Parley's  History  of  the  World,  or  possi- 
bly the  art  of  mixing  American  drinks. 

If  he  dies  of  delirium,  the  chances  are  that 
a  sum  will  be  raised  by  subscription.  He  will 
be  buried  decently  and  mourned  for  by  other 
chit  signers,  who  hope  that  soon  some  day 
others  will  do  the  same  for  them. 
100 


KANE  NAI  NAREIBA. 

As  the  transient  population  of  Yokohama 
increases,  chit  signing  may  disappear,  al- 
though the  habit  is  second  nature  to  those 
who  live  there  now.  Here  and  there  a  man 
rebels  and  swears  that  he'll  never  sign  an- 
other chit,  but  a  temptation  that  is  ever-pres- 
ent can  hardly  be  resisted  long.  With  nothing 
more  between  a  thirsty  man  and  the  drink  he 
longs  for,  than  the  scrawling  of  his  name  on 
a  slip  of  paper,  the  chances  are  that  the  thirst 
will  win.  Other  things,  too,  he  may  crave  as 
keenly,  things  that  will  do  him  less  good  than 
a  drink;  the  fatal  paper  makes  it  all  too  easy, 
and  reform  difficult. 

"So  they  sent  him  to  Yokohama  to  sober 
up,  did  they?"  said  a  London  newspaper  man, 
in  speaking  to  a  friend  of  a  youth  whose  par- 
ents thought  Japan  would  do  wonders  for 
their  bright  but  wayward  child. 

"Might  as  well  have  sent  him  to  Hades  to 
cool  off." 


YASO  NO  SENKIYOSHI. 


YASO  NO  SENKIYOSHI. 


In  Japan  the  missionary's  example  is  not 
exciting,  but  generally  it  is  wholesome,  and 
it  is  as  an  example  he  is  most  effective.  He 
is  taken  seriously,  excepting  when  the  Mail, 
the  Herald  or  the  Gazette,  being  short  on 
copy,  gives  him  opportunity  to  point  out  in 
print  the  weak  spots  in  the  creeds,  customs, 
rites  or  beliefs  of  his  brother  missionaries  of 
other  sects.  The  Japanese  smile  at  him  then, 
and  the  Buddhists  say,  "Honorable  divergence 
of  honorable  opinion  apparently  augustly  ex- 
isting is  among  the  teachers  of  the  religion 
from  the  West."  Then  they  rub  their  polls 
and  become  abstracted  in  contemplation  of 
absolute  unconsciousness. 

The  Government  likes  the  missionary.  The 
Mikado  decorated  one  some  time  ago  and 
later  granted  him  and  his  family  all  the  rights 
of  citizenship.  The  Minister  of  State,  in  trans- 
mitting the  papers,  declared  that  the  Empire 
was  to  be  congratulated  in  having  so  worthy 
105 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

a  man  within  its  borders.  When  this  rever- 
end gentleman  was  presented  to  the  court  of 
the  Heaven-Descended  he  gave  His  Imperial 
Majesty  a  Bible,  the  only  one  that  ever  found 
its  way  within  the  palace  gates. 

As  the  missionary  leaves  home  to  live 
among  the  heathen — a  word,  by  the  way,  he 
carefully  eschews  so  long  as  he  resides  among 
them — the  older  women  of  his  church  tell 
him  that  his  noble  self-sacrifice  awakens  pity 
in  their  hearts.  Pity  there  is  certainly,  and 
admiration,  too.  These  are  comforting  to 
the  missionary,  for  to  him,  as  to  most  folk, 
it  is  grievous  to  give  up  home. 

But  after  he  has  lived  a  year  in  Japan  it 
would  be  more  grievous  were  he  ordered  to 
return.  He  has  eaten  of  the  lotus.  When 
his  seventh  year  arrives  and  he  is  to  come 
back  for  a  twelvemonth  he  does  so  with  some 
little  eagerness  to  see  what  home  will  look 
like  after  an  absence  of  six  years  and  with  a 
joyous  expectation  of  seeing  relatives  and  old 
friends  again;  but  after  he  has  seen,  his  face 
turns  toward  the  West  with  yearning,  and  he 
is  not  quite  himself  again  until  the  land  be- 
yond the  setting  sun — or,  as  the  ancient  name 
describes  it,  The  Land  of  the  Rising  Sun — is 
106 


YASO  NO  SENKIYOSHI. 

beneath  his  feet  once  more.  The  Empire  he 
sought  to  convert  has  converted  him.  He 
does  not  say  so,  perhaps  he  does  not  know, 
but  it  is  a  fact. 

Yet  the  missionary  is  an  influential  per- 
son in  the  East.  He  has  established  schools 
far  and  wide,  several  of  them  of  exceptional 
excellence.  He  is  the  intellectual  father  of 
thousands  of  the  young  men  of  new  Japan. 
These  young  men  do  not  all  profess  the  creed 
of  their  teacher,  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  not 
one  of  them  has  failed  altogether  to  profit  by 
contact  with  the  foreigner.  The  young  man 
may  still  be  unable  to  tell  the  truth,  probably 
he  is;  but,  at  least,  he  has  learned  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  truth-telling — strange  and 
wonderful  though  it  is  to  him  and  of  doubt- 
ful utility,  he  suspects — yet  worthy  of  investi- 
gation. To  accomplish  even  this  is  some- 
thing. 

Mission  schools  teach  everything  from 
chemistry  to  knitting  socks.  They  represent 
almost  every  denomination  of  importance  in 
the  world,  and  they  dispense  knowledge  al- 
most without  cost.  They  are  a  boon  to  the 
country,  but  sometimes  the  earnest  student 
takes  advantage  of  them,  and,  if  slang  may 
107 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

be  allowed,  "pulls  the  missionary's  leg."  Such 
earnest  student  soon  discovers  that  he  re- 
ceives more  atfention  from  the  missionary 
and  from  the  wife  if  he  shows  signs  of  con- 
version. Consequently,  at  whatever  school 
he  enters  his  name  he  begins  to  be  conver- 
ted right  away. 

As  he  changes  from  school  to  school, 
change  being  a  great  delight  to  the  Japanese, 
he  is  converted  frequently.  By  the  time  his 
education  is  complete  he  is  one  of  the  most 
converted  persons  in  the  world.  Indeed,  it  is 
not  extraordinary  to  find  a  member  of  the 
Greek  Church  who  is  also  a  Congregationalist, 
a  French  Catholic,  a  Baptist,  a  Unitarian,  a 
Methodist,  a  communicant  of  the  Church  of 
England  and  belonging,  possibly,  to  half  a 
dozen  minor  mission  organizations. 

The  general  run  of  mission  students  are  as 
religious  as  the  average  American  youth. 
Apparently,  they  enjoy  their  lessons  in  piety 
thoroughly;  the  girls  in  particular;  but  they 
have  such  gentle  natures  it  is  hard  to  believe 
they  need  instruction  in  humility  and  meek- 
ness, for  they  are  themselves  living  lessons 
in  these  virtues. 

The  missionary-in-the-cannibal-stew  idea  is 
1 08 


YASO  NO  SENKIYOSH1. 

upset  by  a  visit  to  the  homes  of  the  evangel- 
ists in  Tsukiji,  Tokio.  One  sees  there  that 
even  from  a  worldly  point  of  view  it  is  not  a 
sad  thing  to  be  a  missionary.  So  long  as  he 
is  faithful  to  his  creed  he  need  not  worry  over 
worldly  matters.  His  salary  will  be  paid  reg- 
ularly so  long  as  he  lives.  He  will  have  a 
home  to  live  in,  the  mission  doctor  and  phar- 
macist will  attend  to  him  and  to  his  family 
without  charge  and  he  will  get  his  traveling 
expenses  on  his  septennial  vacations 
home.  He  goes  to  the  mountains  during 
the  heat  of  summer,  usually  to  Nikko,  con- 
cerning which  place  the  Japanese  legend 
says:  "Nikko  wo  minai  uchi  wa  kekko  to 
iuna,"  ("Until  you  have  seen  Nikko  do  not 
use  the  word  beautiful"),  and  his  children 
may  be  educated  at  the  mission's  expense. 

The  salary  for  bachelor  missionaries  is 
about  $700  gold  a  year,  and  for  married  men 
$1,500  gold.  When  one  remembers  that 
Mexican  dollars  are  par  in  Japan  and  that  a 
dollar  gold  equals  two  Mexican,  that  lodgings 
and  medical  attendance  are  found  and  that 
servant's  wages  are  low — cooks,  $10  to  $15, 
Mexican,  a  month;  nurses  and  maids,  $4  to 
$5,  ditto;  and  a  jinrikisha,  with  a  man  to  pull 
109 


TALES  FROM  TOK10. 

it,  who  finds  himself,  $10  a  month — one  no 
longer  wonders  that  the  missionary  is  so  con- 
tented. 

Learning  the  language  is  the  work  the  mis- 
sionary takes  hold  of  first.  He  must  master 
the  colloquial  in  order  to  preach  to  the  na- 
tives. Usually  five  years  are  allowed  for  this. 
He  may  take  up  the  written  language,  too,  if 
it  seems  advisable,  but  no  one  ever  learned 
that  well  in  five  years.  He  must  learn  all 
over  again  how  to  think,  for  the  mode  of 
thought  and  the  world  of  ideas  into  which  he 
is  entering  are  wholly  different  from  those  he 
was  born  into. 

The  same  circumstances  to  the  Japanese 
mind  and  to  the  foreign  mind  suggest  differ- 
ent ideas,  and  the  ideas  arrange  themselves 
in  different  sequence. 

Japanese  nouns  have  neither  number  or 
gender;  adjectives,  though  not  compared, 
have  tense  and  mood  inflections.  There  are 
no  pronouns;  verbs  do  not  have  person,  but 
have  a  negative  voice,  and,  as  Professor 
Chamberlain  says,  forms  to  indicate  causation 
and  potentiality.  So  the  spoken  language 
will  furnish  ample  occupation  for  even  the 
most  ardent  during  the  first  five  years. 

1 10 


YASO  NO  SENKIYOSHL 

The  written  language  is  so  different  from 
the  spoken  that  were  the  daily  paper  read 
aloud  a  master  of  the  colloquial  might  not 
understand  even  the  general  import  of  the 
article.  To  read  the  newspapers  comfortably 
one  should  know  at  least  6,000  Chinese 
characters.  Some  minds  have  given  way  in 
the  attempt  to  learn  them. 

To  the  missionary  with  a  turn  for  original 
investigation  there  is  an  infinite  held  in  Japan, 
and  this  has  saved  men  who  loved  intellect- 
ual life  and  found  little  congenial  companion- 
ship among  the  natives. 

Buddhism,  land  tenture,  philology  and 
the  intricacies  of  the  native  family  re- 
lationship are  only  a  few  of  the  subjects  that 
as  yet  foreigners  need  light  upon.  But  the 
missionary  is  investigating  patiently.  Already 
he  has  enough  material  for  an  Encyclopedia 
Japonica.  The  thing  he  has  to  fight  against 
is  the  influence  of  his  surroundings,  which 
tend  to  allay  the  keenest  desire  for  achieve- 
ment. The  septennial  home-coming  is  a 
wholesome  tonic. 


OTOKORASHI  ONNA. 


O1OKORASHI  ONNA. 


"  Our  new  woman  would  faint  with  envy 
if  she  could  see  the  way  some  of  her 
Japanese  sisters  run  things  in  their  homes," 
said  Gardner  to  some  globe  trotters  at  the 
Club  Hotel  one  day.  "  She  would  realize  that 
with  all  her  bloomers,  cigarettes, 'canes  and 
masculine  shirt  fronts,  she  is  yet  so  far  from 
her  goal  that  she  could  hardly  hope  to  reach 
it  in  this  life.  She'd  either  quit  living  or  come 
to  Japan. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  sounds  a  little  strange.  Ev- 
ery one  says  that  the  Japanese  woman  is  the 
meekest  person  in  the  world,  and  that  she  is 
as  sweet  and  charming  as  she  is  mild.  Sir 
Edwin  Arnold  says:  '  Her  life  is  summed  up 
in  three  obediences — as  a  child  she  obeys  her 
father,  as  a  wife  she  obeys  her  husband,  and 
as  a  mother  she  obeys  her  eldest  son.'  That's 
true  of  all  the  women  except  those  on  the 
west  coast.  Had  Sir  Edwin  gone  there  he  might 
have  seen  something  to  make  a  story  out  of. 
"5 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

"  I  first  heard  of  the  Japanese  New  Woman, 
who,  by  the  way,  isn't  at  all  new,  when  I  was 
over  in  Noto,  that  little  peninsula  on  the  west 
coast  that  juts  up  into  the  Japan  Sea. 

"  I  had  been  knocking  about  there  for  a 
couple  of  months  and  lost  my  identity  as  a 
foreigner  altogether.  I  learned  something  of 
the  language  and  turned  so  brown  that  I  was 
sure  I'd  never  bleach  out  again. 

"  J  lived  in  a  temple.  Remember,  if  you 
roam  off  the  beaten  trades  in  Japan,  that  tem- 
ples are  better  than  hotels.  The  priests  I 
lived  with  were  of  the  temple  Hoganji,  and 
had  wives,  and  their  wives  could  cook.  Board 
and  lodging  cost  me  $2.80  a  month.  Wor- 
shipers from  every  part  of  Noto  came  to  this 
temple,  for  it  was  older  than  any  man  could 
say,  and  famous. 

••  Through  the  good  offices  of  these  priests 
I  made  friends  in  many  conditions  of  life. 
Those  who  attracted  me  most  were  some 
fisherwomen.  They  came  from  a  cluster  of 
tiny  hamlets  down  the  coast.  In  traveling  by 
the  hill  roads  one  wouldn't  see  a  sign  of  this 
hamlet,  although  one  might  be  only  a  stone's 
throw  away,  because  it  was  hidden  under  the 
cliff. 

116 


OTOKORASHI  ONNA. 

"Well,  I  noticed  these  women  at  the  tem- 
ple several  times,  but  there  were  never  any 
men  with  them.  Women  from  other  places 
came  with  their  husbands.  These  women 
didn't,  but  they  had  children,  who  called  them 
'mama,'  so  I  knew  there  must  be  husbands 
somewhere.  They  were  handsome,  with 
clear  skin,  bright  eyes,  and  rounded  limbs, 
which  their  peasant  garb  scarcely  at  all  con- 
cealed, I  couldn't  understand  why.  Why  were 
there  no  men  with  them  to  ring  the  bell 
above  the  alms  box,  to  fondle  Butsu's  image 
and  to  gossip  with  the  priests? 

"One  evening,  as  my  best  friend  among 
the  priests  sat  with  me  enjoying  a  feast  offer- 
ed up  that  day  to  the  astral  body  of  a  dead 
headsman  of  the  village,  I  learned  the  reason. 
My  friend  was  born  in  one  of  those  hamlets, 
and  would  have  been  there  yet  if  his  mother 
hadn't  said  that  he  should  be  a  priest.  His 
mother,  mind  you,  not  his  father.  That 
sounded  strange,  for  I  had  been  in  the  coun- 
try so  long  that  I  had  forgotten  that  women 
had  a  word  to  say. 

"  'Yes,'  my  friend  went  on,  as  he  rubbed 
his  hand  over  his  shaven  pate,  'it  was  a  good 
thing  for  me,  for  a  man  doesn't  have  a  good 
117 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

time  down  there.  He  has  to  stay  in  the  house 
to  keep  things  clean  and  do  the  cooking.  That 
is  because  he  can't  swim.  At  least,  he  can't 
swim  as  well  as  a  woman.  Why,  my  mother 
can  swim  two  days  in  the  busy  season  and 
not  be  used  up,  but  my  father  would  be  tired 
out  if  he  stayed  in  the  water  six  hours.' 

"  'That's  the  way  .the  women  earn  a  living,' 
added  the  priest.  'If  none  of  the  people  could 
swim  they  would  have  to  go  somewhere  else, 
for  there  is  no  other  work  to  do  there.  These 
shellfish  that  you  like  so  well,'  said  he,  pick- 
ing up  a  portion  of  the  offering  to  the  "hon- 
orable departed,"  'come  from  there.  They 
are  difficult  to  get.  The  women  go  down  50 
to  100  feet  after  them.  While  the  woman  is 
diving  for  shellfish,  the  man  is  at  home  car- 
ing for  the  house.  That's  the  custom  in  ev- 
ery household. 

"  'Once  I  remember  a  man  got  drunk  and 
did  not  have  the  dinner  ready  when  his  wife 
came  up.  She  told  her  friends,  and  they 
pulled  him  into  the  sea.  Then  they  sat  on 
him  and  pushed  him  down  till  he  was  almost 
drowned.  He  was  crying  "Go  men  nasai," 
(honorable  pardon  deign)  all  the  time.  He 
cried  and  the  women  laughed — all,  except  his 
118 


OTOKORASHI  ONNA. 

wife.  She  struck  his  head  with  her  hand  and 
called  him  'dara'  (lacking).  When  they 
brought  him  to  the  beach  again  the  drunk 
was  all  gone  and  he  was  humble. 

"  'People  in  Japan  generally  do  not  know 
about  this  place,'  continued  my  friend;  'a  for- 
eigner never  saw  it.' 

"  'One  day  when  I  was  a  small  boy  I  went 
with  my  mother  to  sell  shellfish  on  Kashima. 
When  we  were  there  a  ship  anchored  off  the 
shore.  A  boat  full  of  men  with  green  eyes 
and  white  clothes  came  to  land.  They  took 
my  mother's  shellfish  and  all  the  pickles  on 
the  island.  Then  they  went  away.  Some  one 
said  they  were  Rokoku  no  hito,  (Russians). 
I  don't  know  but  they  are  the  only  foreigners 
most  of  us  have  ever  seen. 

"Does  your  mother  ever  come  here?"  I 
asked. 

"  '  Oh,  yes.  She  is  coming  tomorrow,  and 
I  am  going  back  with  her.  Wouldn't  you  like 
to  go,  too?  If  you  would  condescend  to  travel 
in  such  rude  company  and  to  enter  our  un- 
worthy hovel  we  shall  be  honored  greatly.' 
'I'm  with  you,'  I  said. 

"The  next  day  his  mother  came.  He  said 
she  was  his  mother,  though  she  did  not  look 
119 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

to  be  30  years  old.  She  was  plump  and  grace- 
ful and  merry.  On  her  back  was  a  boy,  her 
grandson,  as  I  learned  afterward,  just  past  his 
sixth  birthday.  She  had  carried  him  twenty- 
six  miles  that  morning.  When  she  had  bowed 
to  us  a  half  dozen  times,  she  took  a  dip  in  the 
sea,  gliding  through  the  water  like  a  seal,  and 
then  entered  the  temple. 

"Then  we  all  seated  ourselves  in  the  guest 
room  of  the  temple,  and  she  nursed  the  six- 
year-old  at  her  breast.  Grandmothers  do  that 
here  in  Japan.  She  wished  to  return  that 
afternoon.  'It  will  be  moonlight,  and  we  can 
be  there  by  10  o'clock,'  she  said.  'I  do  not 
like  to  leave  Danasan  there  all  alone.  Dana- 
san  was  her  husband.  I  jollied  her  a  little, 
and  when  dinner  was  served,  offered  her  my 
sake  cup  so  often  with  my  profoundest  bow 
that  she  said  she  would  wait  till  morning. 

"She  woke  us  about  four  o'clock,  and  by 
five  we  were  on  our  way.  She  carried  the 
child. 

"Early  in  the  afternoon  we  were  in  her 
home.  The  tide  was  out,  so  we  did  not  see 
the  women,  who  were  in  the  water,  and  were 
hidden  from  view  beyond  some  rocks.  The 
men  were  at  home  doing  chores  in  a  shy, 
120 


OTOKORASHI  ONNA. 

submissive  way.  Some  were  preparing  shell- 
fish and  laying  them  on  the  sandy  beach  to 
dry;  others  were  grinding  buckwheat  out  of 
which  they  would  make  soba,  the  native  sub- 
stitute for  macaroni.  Some  were  bringing  in 
faggots,  and  were  putting  in  order  the  square 
holes  that  in  every  peasant's  hut  serve  as 
fireplace  or  were  burnishing  kettles,  and  do- 
ing other  odd  jobs.  No  wonder  my  friend 
was  glad  he  was  a  priest. 

"With  the  rising  of  the  tide  the  women 
came  up.  Even  the  oldest  were  good  look- 
ing. They  had  pouches  hung  to  belts  about 
their  loins,  and  in  these  they  placed  the  shell- 
fish they  found  upon  the  bottom.  All  of  the 
pouches  had  something  in  them,  many  of 
them  were  full.  As  each  one  came  out  she 
emptied  her  pouch  into  a  common  pile  on 
the  beach,  and  one  of  the  older  women  called 
off  the  name  from  a  book  and  made  a  mark 
opposite.  The  marks  seemed  all  alike,  so  I 
suppose  the  women  were  communists.  The 
priest  told  me  that  all  the  villagers  were  in 
one  company,  and  that  each  member  did  the 
best  she  could  for  the  good  of  all.  If  any  one 
grew  lazy  there  was  a  penalty,  but  it  had  not 
been  used  for  so  long  he  had  forgotten  it. 

121 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

"As  I  stood  watching  the  heap  grow,  the 
priest's  father,  bowing  low,  said:  'Go  men 
kudasai,  nan  nimo  nai  desukaredeimo,  dozo 
owagari,'  which  means  honorable  pardon 
deign  to  give.  There  is  absolutely  nothing 
either  to  eat  or  to  drink,  but  please  honorably 
condescend  to  partake. 

"I  followed  him  into  the  house,  and  was 
just  sitting  down  to  a  banquet  of  many  shapes 
and  sizes,  the  like  of  which  I  had  never  seen 
before, when  there  was  a  commotion  outside. 

"'Nan  deshoka!'  exclaimed  the  priest. 
•What's  up?  Ah,  korario'  (come  here).  I  hur- 
ried after  him.  There  was  a  luckless  man  in 
the  midst  of  a  mob  of  women.  He  was  pro- 
testing, and  they,  talking  all  at  once,  were 
heading  to  the  sea,  just  like  the  case  of  which 
my  friend  had  told  me.  The  man  was  ducked, 
and  then  laid  out  to  dry. 

"  'Was  he  drunk?'  I  asked.  'Oh,  no.  That 
woman  in  the  tub  over  there  fell  in  love  with 
him,  and  his  wife  found  them  talking  together 
this  morning.  Now  she  is  telling  him  that 
he  must  not  have  eyes  and  ears  for  other 
women.  He  will  be  careful  after  this,  for  he 
doesn't  like  the  sea.' 

The  woman  in  the  tub  was  burnishing  her 
122 


OTOKORASHI  ONNA. 

arms  with  a  small  bag  of  rice  powder,  and 
paid  little  attention  to  what  was  going  on.  No 
one  said  anything  to  her,  though  she  was  the 
cause  of  the  trouble. 

"I  wonder  what  will  happen  when  the  shell- 
fish become  extinct." 


TOKIO  NO  HANA. 


TOKIO  NO  HANA. 


Translated  literally,  "Tokio  no  hana"  means 
"Tokio's  flower";  translated  freely,  it  means 
"fire."  Fire  is  the  flower  of  Tokio.  Any 
Japanese  carpenter  will  tell  you  that,  and  the 
bigger  the  hana  is  the  better  he  likes  it,  for 
the  more  work  there  will  be  for  him. 

The  carpenter  ranks  high  in  the  artisan 
class,  and  in  the  popular  mind,  daiku  san,  as 
he  is  called,  is  still  next  to  samurai,  above  the 
farmer  and  the  merchant. 

Daiku  san  is,  therefore,  an  important  man, 
and  when  he  is  happy  it  is  well  to  rejoice  with 
him.  Do  not  be  vexed,  if  you  find  him  pur- 
ring at  your  front  gate  as  you  rush  out  to 
notify  the  nearest  policeman  that  your  house 
is  on  fire.  Rather  tell  him  where  the  sake  is, 
and  beg  him  to  help  himself  and  to  take 
home  what  he  does  not  drink  for  a  present 
to  his  family. 

He  will  do  his  prettiest  in  building  a  new 
house  for  you  a  few  days  later,  and  describe 
127 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

you  to  his  co-laborers  as  a  man  of  noble  birth. 
Thus  stimulated,  the  product  of  their  labor 
will  be  excellent  and  you  will  stand  well  with 
the  community. 

In  Tokio  it  is  expected  that  a  house  will 
burn  down  about  once  in  seven  years.  There 
are  plenty  of  exceptions,  but  rents  are  calcu- 
lated on  this  basis.  The  owner  reckons  to 
get  his  money  back  with  interest  in  that  time, 
and  then  is  quite  ready  to  build  anew. 

A  large  fire  in  Tokio  means  good  times 
and  a  picnic  always.  The  first  thing  a  man 
does  when  he  is  burned  out  is  to  banquet  all 
his  friends.  His  credit  is  good  under  the  cir- 
cumstancs  and  a  lack  of  ready  cash  is  no  hin- 
drance to  festivity. 

The  more  houses  he  has  lost  the  greater 
banquet  he  will  serve,  and  daiku  san  will  be 
much  in  evidence.  He  will  assist  in  opening 
a  koku  of  sake  with  generous  dexterity  and 
will  stand  by  till  the  last  drop  of  the  forty 
gallons  has  been  distributed. 

He  will  aid  in  the  distribution  of  balls  of 
rice,  neatly  rolled  up  in  jackets  of  raw  fish, 
assuring  each  guest,  in  turn,  that  there  is 
nothing  like  the  fires  that  bloom  in  the 
spring,  and  that  in  Tokio  it  is  always  spring. 
128 


TOKIO  NO  HANA. 

Figures  do  not  lie,  but  in  statements  about 
fires  in  Japan  they  are  misleading.  A  "griffin," 
reading  in  the  Mail  of  a  fire  of  one  hundred 
houses,  would  think  it  a  "  conflagration";  but 
nothing  less  than  one  thousand  is  a  conflagra- 
tion in  the  Mikado's  Empire,  and  a  thousand 
make  only  a  small  one. 

Bishop  Williams  of  the  American  Episcopal 
Church  looked  out  of  his  study  window  one 
pleasant  evening  watching  a  fire  two  miles 
away,  and  then  retired  to  dream  that  the  in- 
evitable festivities  of  the  morrow  were  inter- 
fering with  his  mission  services.  Three  hours 
later  his  boy  aroused  him  with  the  words, 
"Conflagration's  wrath  encroaches  precipitate- 
ly," and  the  good  Bishop  escaped  in  a  robe 
not  prescribed  by  canon.  His  dreams  were 
all  too  true.  Eighteen  thousand  houses  dis- 
appeared in  smoke,  and  Tokio  was  on  a 
spree  for  two  weeks. 

Houses  in  Japan,  however,  signify  less  than 
in  America.  They  are  really  roofs  on  pegs. 
The  walls  are  sliding  doors — "to"  on  the  out- 
side, along  the  outer  edge  of  "  engawa"  or 
verandas,  "  shoji"  along  the  inner  edge, 
which  shut  off  the  engawa  from  the  liv- 
ing rooms,  and  "karakami"  the  separating 
129 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

walls  between  adjacent  rooms.  All  these  can 
be  lifted  out  of  their  grooves  easily  and  car- 
ried off. 

Even  the  tatami,  or  straw  mattresses,  cov- 
ering the  floor,  are  not  fastened  down,  and 
they  can  be  hurried  away  if  there  is  a  half- 
hour's  warning.  All  but  the  poorest  houses 
have  "kura,"  alleged  fire-proof  buildings,  near 
at  hand,  into  which  everything  of  value  may 
be  stowed  away. 

These  kura  are  of  mud,  plaster  and  tile, 
and  look  to  be  impervious  to  heat;  but  the 
radiance  of  "Tokio  no  hana"  is  often  too  much 
for  them,  and  they  crumble  into  dust. 

Fire  engines  are  used  to  throw  water  on 
the  firemen,  not  on  the  fire.  That  would  be 
an  utter  waste.  Few  of  the  pumps,  which 
generally  are  worked  by  man  power,  throw 
more  of  a  stream  than  ordinary  garden  hose 
— just  about  enough  to  keep  the  firemen  soppy 
and  steaming. 

With  his  heavily  padded  "kimono,"  short 
in  the  skirt  and  bound  to  his  waist,  like  a 
Norfolk  jacket,  his  combination  of  tights  and 
leggins,  his  blue  mits  and  pointed  hood  and 
his  long  barbed  pole,  the  fireman  prances 
about  in  the  smoke  and  the  glare  of  the 
130 


TOKIO  NO  HANA. 

flames,  pulling  down  everything  to  clear  a 
path  to  leeward,  and  so  starve  the  fire.  He 
looks  like  a  devil,  but  he  is  only  an  acrobat. 

Whenever  there  is  a  lull  he  will  do  stunts 
on  a  bamboo  ladder — stand  on  his  head  on 
the  top  rung  and  similar  feats.  He  will  be  in 
for  the  picnic,  too,  along  with  the  carpenter. 

The  combination  of  kerosene  lamp  and 
earthquake  produces  many  "Tokio  no  hana" 
and  similar  blossoms  in  other  parts  of  Japan. 
Instinctively  every  one  runs  to  the  lamps 
when  the  house  begins  to  shake.  Another 
cause  of  fire  is  the  lucifer  match,  still  in  use 
among  the  poorer  people. 

A  record  of  Tokio  fires  in  the  last  two 
hundred  and  sixty  years  shows  where  they 
are  most  prevalent.  The  district  is  called  the 
fire  district,  and  within  its  boundary  shingle 
roofs  are  prohibited.  Tin  roofs  are  not  yet 
introduced.  There  is,  however,  a  greatly  im- 
proved system  of  waterworks  now  approach- 
ing completion  in  Tokio,  and,  with  hydrants 
and  better  engines,  "Tokio  no  hana"  may 
some  day  be  a  legend  only. 

At  present,  however,  it  flourishes,  and  is 
taken  as  a  guarantee  of  joyous  times — a  truth- 
ful herald  of  prosperity. 


SHIMBUN. 


SHIMBUN. 

Wearing  and  vexatious  enough  in  all  coun- 
tries, in  the  Land  of  the  Rising  Sun  the  busi- 
ness of  editing  and  publishing  a  daily  paper 
has  been  so  uncertain  that  it  is  a  marvel  it 
was  carried  on  at  all.  To  an  American  such 
uncertainty  would  be  intolerable.  The  Japan- 
ese editor,  like  Brer  Rabbit,  "never  knows 
what  minnit's  going  to  be  the  next."  Since 
the  promulgation  of  the  constitution  in  1889 
papers  have  been  suspended  at  the  rate  of 
one  a  week,  and  some  of  the  writers  have 
grown  so  familiar  with  the  way  to  the  "hon- 
orable jail"  that  it  is  said  they  could  go  there 
blindfolded.  Since  the  war  with  China  the 
Japanese  have  done  a  great  deal  of  talking 
about  their  equality  to  Westerners,  but  in  the 
matter  of  freedom  of  the  press  they  cannot 
fail  to  see  that  they  are  centuries  behind  the 
times.  This  was  demonstrated  in  the  recent 
trials  of  the  editors  of  several  papers,  among 
them  the  Tokio  Shimbun,  for  criticising  the 
135 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

Minister  of  the  Imperial  Household.  Public 
opinion  was  tremendously  aroused,  and  Par- 
liament has  passed  laws  modifying  the  rigor 
of  press  censorship  to  some  extent. 

Excepting  in  those  papers  in  the  English 
language  which  are  published  in  the  treaty 
ports,  and  are  owned  and  edited  almost  ex- 
clusively by  Englishmen,  who  do  not  fear  the 
red  pencil  of  the  censor,  no  one  has  dared  to 
discuss  questions  of  state.  The  list  of  "dont's," 
that  is,  the  list  of  things  a  writer  on  a  paper 
must  not  say,  is  long,  and,  worse  than  this, 
no  one  outside  the  Bureau  of  Press  Censor- 
ship knows  what  it  contains.  It  is  only  by 
guessing  and  by  bitter  experience  that  an 
editor  knows  what  to  avoid.  If  a  paper  pub- 
lishes an  article  that  is  not  approved,  the 
paper  is  suspended,  and  that  is  all  there  is 
about  it.  No  reason  is  given.  The  disap- 
proved article  is  not  even  mentioned  in  the 
order  of  suspension.  Small  wonder  then  that 
there  is  discontent,  and  that  the  cry  for  re- 
form grows  louder  every  day.  Here  is  a 
translation  by  Basil  Hall  Chamberlain  of  what 
the  editor  of  the  Nichi-Nichi  Shimbun  says  of 
the  tribulations  of  journalism  in  Dai  Nippon: 

Newspapers  and  magazines  are  confronted 
136 


SHIMBUN. 

by  a  special  danger — the  danger,  namely,  of 
suspension  when  their  words  are  held  to  be 
prejudicial  to  the  public  order,  and  a  suspen- 
sion, too,  against  which  there  is  no  appeal. 
Article  xix.  of  the  newspaper  regulations  now 
ia  force  says:  "When  a  newspaper  has  print- 
ed matter  which  is  considered  prejudicial  to 
public  order  or  subversive  of  public  morality, 
the  Minister  of  State  for  the  Interior  is  em- 
powered to  suspend  its  publication  either  to- 
tally or  temporaily."  Nor  is  there  a  word  said 
in  the  regulations  whereby  the  prejudicial  or 
non-prejudicial  character  of  a  statement  or 
argument  is  to  be  determined.  It  is  sufficient 
that  the  official  in  question  should  decide  in 
accordance  with  his  own  individual  opinion 
that  the  statement  or  argument  is  thus  pre- 
judicial to  public  order  for  a  newspaper  to 
incur  at  any  moment  the  penalty  of  suspen- 
sion either  total  or  temporary.  It  is  indispu- 
table that  the  authorities  are  empowered  by 
the  law  of  the  land  to  act  thus.  The  consti- 
tution itself  gives  them  this  power.  The  re- 
sult is  that  we  writers  are  constantly  obliged 
in  taking  our  pen  in  hand  to  keep  to  our- 
selves seven  or  eight  of  every  ten  opinions 
we  would  fain  express. 

137 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

When  a  paper  ventures  too  far  and  the  cen- 
sor is  called  upon  to  write  the  order  of  sus- 
pension, he  is  brief  but  polite — wonderfully 
polite.  He  puts  the  honorifics  "o"  or  "go" 
before  each  of  the  nouns  and  verbs.  Pre- 
fixed to  a  noun  "o"  means  honorable,  to  a 
verb  it  means  honorably;  similarly  "go"  means 
august,  augustly.  So  the  order  when  it  ar- 
rives will  read  somewhat  as  follows: 

Deign  honorably  to  cease  honorably  pub- 
lishing august  paper.  Honorable  editor,  hon- 
orable publisher,  honorable  chief  printer, 
deign  honorably  to  enter  august  jail. 

The  honorable  editor  with  his  honorable 
coworkers  bow  low  before  the  messenger  of 
the  censor,  acknowledging  the  honor  of  the 
august  notification,  and  then  accompany  him 
to  the  honorable  jail,  chatting  the  meanwhile 
of  the  weather,  or  of  the  flower  shows,  or  of 
the  effect  of  the  floods  on  the  rice  crop.  Cen- 
turies of  breeding  under  Japanese  etiquette 
have  rendered  it  impossible  for  them  to  show 
annoyance.  They  do  not  know  how. 

When  a  paper  has  been  suspended  the  first 

intimation    the  public   has   of   the  fact  is  the 

quiet  in  the  composing  room.    Few  places  in 

the  world  where  regular  business  is  carried 

138 


SHIMBUN. 

on  are  noisier  than  a  Japanese  composing 
room.  The  amount  of  noise  therein  is  deter- 
mined  only  by  the  cubic  capacity  of  the  apart- 
ment. If  it  is  a  larger  room  there  is  more 
noise,  if  smaller  there  is  less,  but  in  working 
hours  it  is  always  chock  full.  The  confusion 
at  the  tower  of  Babel  is  there  vividly  suggest- 
ed every  day.  For  the  ordinary  Tokio  paper 
there  will  be  at  least  twenty  men  and  boys 
marching  to  and  fro,  each  yelling  at  the  top 
of  his  voice.  There  seems  neither  head  nor 
tail  to  this  confusion,  but,  nevertheless,  each 
of  these  screeching  people  has  an  object  at 
which  he  looks  intently  while  he  parades 
about.  This  object  is  a  "line"  or  stick  of  Jap- 
anese characters,  for  which  he  must  find  the 
appropriate  types.  It  is  something  of  a  job 
to  find  all  these,  for  to  print  even  a  four-page 
paper  in  Japan  upwards  of  5,000  different 
characters  are  used.  These  require  many 
fonts,  which  are  crowded  into  a  small  space, 
that  there  may  be  as  little  travelling  as  pos- 
sible. 

The  "devil"  goes  about  these  fonts  with  a 

waltzing  motion,  there  are  so  many  corners 

to  turn,  and  always  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  his 

stick,  as  though  it  were  a  sacred  relic.     In- 

139 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

deed,  to  the  stranger  in  the  street  below  who 
looked  up  through  the  long  windows,  which 
reach  from  floor  to  ceiling,  it  might  seem  that 
a  religious  dance  was  going  on,  and  that  the 
devotees  were  wrought  well  up  to  the  frenzy 
point. 

On  going  up  inside  one  finds  an  old  man 
sitting  in  a  corner  reading  copy  and  cutting 
it  into  strips  with  what  looks  at  first  glance 
like  a  pair  of  sugar  tongs,  but  what  is  really 
shears.  As  each  slip  falls,  a  "devil"  grabs  it 
and  starts  off  on  his  pilgrimage,  singing  at 
the  top  of  his  voice  the  names  of  the  char- 
acters he  seeks.  He  has  to  pronounce  the 
names  of  each  character  aloud  in  order  to 
know  what  it  is,  for  he  understands  by  hear- 
ing rather  than  by  seeing,  and  his  own  paper 
would  be  unintelligible  to  him  unless  he  read 
it  aloud.  As  all  the  other  imps  yell  also,  he 
has  to  be  vociferous  in  order  to  hear  himself. 
When  he  has  collected  the  types  for  all  the 
characters  on  his  slip  he  gives  them  to  the 
head  compositor,  a  learned  man  with  goggles, 
who  puts  in  the  particles  and  the  connecting 
words  and  hands  the  completed  form  to  a 
pair  of  proof  readers,  one  of  whom  sings 
them  to  the  other.  As  soon  as  the  proof  is 
140 


SHIMBUN. 

ready,  the  paper  is  made  up,  all  hind  side 
before  it  would  seem  to  a  foreigner.  The 
reading  lines  are  perpendicular  and  the  col- 
umns run  across  the  page  from  right  to  left, 
the  first  column  beginning  at  the  upper  right- 
hand  corner  of  what  in  an  American  paper 
would  be  the  last  page. 

The  Japanese  reporter  makes  about  as 
much  money  as  the  Japanese  policeman — 
that  is,  $6  a  month.  In  Tokio  some  of  them 
make  more,  and  in  the  smaller  towns  they 
make  as  little  as  $2  a  month,  but  $6  is  a  fair 
average.  They  are  not  sent  out  on  regular 
assignments  as  a  rule,  but  are  given  a  roving 
commission.  The  editor  tells  them  to  get 
news,  real  news  if  there  is  any,  but  to  get 
news;  and  they  never  return  empty-handed. 
A  good  news-gatherer  is  rare  among  them, 
but  the  "fakir"  is  plentiful  enough  and  really 
clever. 

Interviewing  hardly  can  be  said  to  be  pop- 
ular. The  people  do  not  understand  it  and 
do  not  like  it.  Japan  is  esoteric  and  doesn't 
tell  what  it  knows  if  it  can  help  itself.  Still, 
there  are  interviews  in  Japanese  papers.  Poli- 
ticians have  themselves  interviewed  occasion- 
ally, and  "globe-trotters"  usually  submit 
141 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

But  the  remarkable  thing  about  these  pa- 
pers, is  not  that  they  are  so  meagre  in  every 
department,  but  that  they  exist  at  alL  The 
first  Japanese  newspaper  was  published  in 
1872,  by  John  Black,  an  Englishman,  who 
founded  the  Nisshin  Shinji  Shi.  Before  that 
there  had  been  only  occasional  terror  sheets, 
which  the  "yomi  uri" — the  native  chapmen — 
hawked  about  after  a  particularly  bloody 
murder,  or  catastrophe,  such  as  a  great  fire, 
a  flood  or  an  earthquake. 

There  are  no  headlines  nor  any  display  ad- 
vertisements. The  paper  consists  generally 
of  a  leading  article,  a  lot  of  news  items, 
more  or  less  untrustworthy,  a  jumble  of  ad- 
vertisements, sometimes  printed  on  the  mar- 
gin of  the  sheet,  and  a  section  of  a  continued 
story.  There  is  almost  no  telegraphic  news 
and  little  correspondence,  either  local  or  for- 
eign. Occasionally  a  student  who  is  studying 
abroad  will  send  a  letter,  but  not  one  of  the 
640  papers  and  periodicals  now  published  in 
the  empire  maintains  a  regular  correspondent 
anywhere,  not  even  in  the  large  Japanese 
cities.  The  news  department  is  as  largely 
"fake"  as  it  is  in  any  of  our  issues  of  the  "new 
journalism,"  but  it  is  the  leaders,  after  all, 
142 


SHIM  BUN. 

that  make  one  wonder  why  the  paper  is  pub- 
lished. With  the  sharp  red  pencil  of  the  cen- 
sor pointing  at  him,  ready  to  be  thrust  into 
him  behind  his  back  at  any  moment,  the  edi- 
tor has  evolved  into  a  man  skilled  in  the 
art  of  saying  nothing,  or,  at  least,  what  reads 
like  nothing  to  the  uninitiated.  He  is  a  marvel 
at  double  entendre.  But  with  all  his  clever- 
ness he  is  caught  so  often  that  he  has  become 
inventive,  and  has  devised  artifices  whereby 
he  has  hoped  to  escape.  The  most  success- 
ful of  these  was  the  dummy,  or  "prison 
editor,"  as  he  was  known  in  the  Oriental  sanc- 
tum. This  functionary  had  an  easy  time.  He 
had  nothing  to  do  on  the  paper,  never  wrote 
a  line,  but  when  those  who  did  write  said 
anything  that  the  censor  judged  might  mean 
something,  and  the  paper  was  suspended,  the 
prison  editor  stepped  forward,  bowed  low, 
and  said,  "What  augustly  must  be,  probably 
augustly  must  be."  Then  he  trotted  off  to 
prison.  This  scheme  worked  well  for  a  long 
time,  but  after  a  while  the  censor  demanded 
that  the  principal  three  men  connected  with 
the  paper  should  go  to  the  "honorable  jail." 
Three  dummies  were  more  than  any  paper 
could  afford  to  maintain,  and  so  there  are  no 
143 


TALES  FROM  TOK10. 

proxies  now.  Black's  paper  was  followed  by 
others,  among  them  the  Kvvampo,  or  Official 
Gazette ;the  Tokio  Shimpo  and  the  Kokai.semi- 
official;  the  Mai  Nichi  Shimbun,  the  Yomi  Uri 
Shimbun,  and  the  Ubin  Hochi  Shimbun,  all 
liberal;  the  Jiu  Shimbun  and  the  Ninken 
Shimbun,  radical;  the  Nihon  and  the  Chusei 
Nippo,  conservative  and  anti-foreign;  the 
Fuzaku  Gwaho,  an  interesting  illustrated  rec- 
ord of  manners  and  customs;  and  the  Maru 
Maru,  a  comic  paper  inspired  originally  by 
Punch.  There  are  also  prominent  the  Chu- 
guai  Shiogio  Shimpo,  a  commercial  daily; 
the  Jiji  Shimpo,  imperial;  the  Tokio  Nichi 
Nichi  Shimbun,  and  in  Osaka  the  Asahi, (Morn- 
ing Sun)  and  the  Mainichi,  which  are  read 
widely  in  the  south  of  Japan. 

All  these  papers  use  the  written  language, 
which  differs  from  the  spoken  language  both 
in  its  grammar  and  in  its  vocabulary.  Mr. 
Chamberlain  says  that  the  Japanese  are  still 
in  the  condition  of  Europeans  of  the  twelfth 
century:  "They  do  not  write  as  they  speak. 
A  man  may  know  the  spoken  language  thor- 
oughly, and  yet  not  be  able  to  understand  the 
daily  paper  when  it  is  read  aloud,  nor  even 
the  note  he  has  just  asked  his  native  clerk  in 
144 


SHIMBUN. 

his  office  to  write  and  to  send  up  to  the  house, 
announcing  that  he  will  bring  up  a  friend  to 
•tiffin.' " 

Speeches  are  taken  down  in  shorthand,  but 
are  almost  always  translated  into  the  written 
language  before  they  are  printed.  The  one 
exception  to  the  rule  is  in  the  Record  of  Par- 
liament speeches,  wherein  the  words  are 
published  just  as  they  were  uttered.  When 
this  Record  first  appeared  the  rural  members 
were  filled  with  consternation,  for  there  they 
saw  held  up  to  the  public  eye  all  their  pecul- 
iarities of  provincial  dialect.  Old  men  as  some 
of  them  were,  they  got  themselves  teachers 
and  set  about  learning  to  speak  like  towns- 
folk. 

This  Record  is  the  beginning  of  a  tremen- 
dous reform  which  will  lead  to  the  disuse  of 
the  written  language,  first  in  newspapers,  and 
finally,  it  is  hoped,  in  books  as  well.  For  the 
spoken  language  is  the  living  language,  the 
language  of  the  people.  With  the  present 
Parliament  a  new  order  of  things  may  be  es- 
tablished in  Japan,  and  freedom  of  the  press 
guaranteed.  Ministers  of  State  incline  to 
think  that  the  time  is  almost  come.  But  it  is 
well  to  remember  that  while  the  present  laws 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

are  cruelly  severe  as  judged  by  Western  na- 
tions, they  are,  as  Prof.  Chamberlain  points 
out,  not  so  severe  historically  speaking,  be- 
cause it  is  hardly  a  quarter  of  a  century  since 
freedom  of  speech  was  denied  to  the  Mikado's 
subjects,  not  theoretically,  perhaps,  but  to  all 
intents  and  purposes.  It  was  a  capital  of- 
fence to  memorialize  the  government.  Those 
who  did  so,  and  history  gives  many  instances, 
were  wont  to  write  what  they  had  to  say  in 
the  form  of  a  letter  to  the  Prime  Minister,  and 
then  calmly  kneeling  at  the  gate  of  some 
public  building,  commit  hara-kiri,  or,  to  use 
the  polite  term,  seppuku.  The  police,  who 
may  have  stood  respectfully  at  a  distance 
while  the  act  was  committing,  would  find  the 
letter  on  searching  the  body  of  the  suicide, 
and  report  its  contents  to  the  Minister. 


OJIGI  TO  NIU  SATSU. 


OJIGI  TO  NIU  SATSU. 


Election  inspectors  in  Japan  have  rubber 
backs.  They  need  them,  for  on  voting  days 
they  have,  at  the  lowest  calculation,  520,000 
bows  to  make,  and  now  the  franchise  has 
been  extended  they  will  soon  have  to  ojigi 
five  times  as  often.  That  is  a  great  deal  of 
hinge  work,  and  demands  elasticity  and  lub- 
rication, especially  as  ojigi  does  not  mean  a 
mere  nod  of  the  head.  To  be  done  properly, 
the  body  must  double  at  the  hips,  folding 
after  the  manner  of  a  two-foot  rule.  The 
tachiainin,  therefore,  as  the  inspectors  are 
called,  no  matter  how  automatic  their  early 
training  may  have  made  them,  have  no  snap 
— not  a  particle  when  night  comes,  and  the 
polls  having  closed,  they  climb  into  their 
jinrikisha  and  go  home  to  be  shampooed  by 
some  blind  amma  and  restored  to  life. 

Five  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  bows  is 
a  conservative  estimate.  It  allows  each  voter 
only  one  jigi,  which  is  ridiculous,  for  it  is 
149 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

hardly  conceivable  that  a  voter  should 
approach  the  inspectors,  seated  behind  the 
ballot  boxes,  with  less  than  half  a  dozen  fold- 
ings, and  etiquette  naturally  demands  that 
the  inspectors  should  fold,  too.  It  is  safe  to 
allow  three  jigi  for  each  voter,  and  to  declare 
boldly  that  every  general  election  day  here- 
tofore in  Japan  has  witnessed  inspectorial 
doubling  to  the  extent  of  1,500,000,  or 
enough  to  supply  the  most  energetic  saint  a 
lifetime. 

The  new  franchise,  by  similar  reasoning, 
implies  7,500,000  bows.  Allowing  100  foot- 
pounds to  a  bow,  the  energy  folded  off  into 
space  on  voting  days  is  found  to  be  75,000,000 
foot-pounds;  or  2,272  horse-power.  It  costs 
something  to  be  polite  and  it  takes  time;  but 
time  is  plentiful  in  the  Land  of  the  Rising 
Sun. 

A  Japanese  needs  about  a  quarter  of  a 
minute  to  ojigi.  At  this  rate  one  man  would 
be  occupied  continuously  for  345  years  6 
months  and  14  days  if  he  were  to  do  all  the 
folding  himself. 

Japan's  population  is  somewhere  near  42- 
000,000,  and  in  area  the  Empire  is  about  the 
same  as  California.  Only  about  twelve  per 
150 


OJIGI  TO  NIU  SATSU. 

cent,  of  this  land  is  suitable  for  cultivation. 
The  people,  therefore,  are  crowded  together, 
and  large  land  holdings  are  not  numerous. 
This  accounts  in  some  measure  for  the  few 
voters  in  Japan  at  present,  because  the  fran- 
chise was  limited  to  men  at  least  twenty-five 
year's  old  that  paid  direct  taxes  on  land — 
chiokusatsu — or  on  incomes — kokuzai — of  at 
least  fifteen  yen. 

As  an  instance  of  a  result  of  the  operation 
of  this  law,  Tokio,  the  capital,  with  a  pop- 
ulation of  2,000,000,  has  had  only  7,000  voters, 
or  one  to  every  285  of  the  inhabitants.  Al- 
most all  of  the  men  entitled  to  vote  have 
availed  themselves  of  the  privilege.  The 
kikensha,  or  "stay-at-homes,"  have  been  rare 
when  compared  to  America. 

Voting  is  a  semi-private,  semi-public  act, 
performed  with  much  solemnity  and  no  dis- 
order. No  one  besides  the  voter  and  the  in- 
spectors is  allowed  in  the  polling  booth  while 
the  function  is  in  progress.  The  inspectors 
are  the  Mayor,  or  the  headman  of  the  district, 
and  two  or  four  other  men  chosen  by  him 
They  may  be  all  of  the  same  political  faith, 
and,  if  inclined  to  do  so,  could  manipulate  the 
ballots  to  their  own  advantage  materially.  The 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

law  says  nothing  about  bi-partisan  inspection 
boards. 

Another  opportunity  these  officials  have  to 
help  along  their  friends  is  in  advising  the 
voters  how  to  vote.  They  may  even  fill  out 
the  ballot  for  him  if  he  does  not  wish  to  do 
it  himself.  His  education  may  not  extend  to 
Chinese  characters,  and  not  caring  to  use  the 
humble  hiragana,  he  begs  the  inspectors, 
with  many  jigi,  to  do  the  names  of  the  can- 
didates for  him  in  Chinese. 

The  ballot  box  is  almost  an  idol  in  the  eyes 
of  the  newly  enfranchised  Japanese.  Indeed, 
they  approach  it  with  a  reverence  beyond  that 
accorded  the  temple  images  of  Buddha.  They 
are  used  to  Buddha's  images,  but  the  ballot 
box  is  still  mysterious.  It  is  still  awful  in  the 
eyes  of  the  older  natives  for  a  private  citizen 
to  take  it  upon  himself  to  make  suggestions 
to  the  Government.  It  is  indeed  a  manifes- 
tation of  effrontery,  and  in  former  days  was 
punished  by  death,  not  only  of  the  citizen, 
but  often  of  his  entire  family. 

A  ballot  certainly  is  a  suggestion,  and  so  the 
old  men  stand  in  fearful  awe  of  it. 


BUTSUZO  KOSHITE. 


BUTSUZO  KOSHITE. 


If  you  are  ill  in  Japan,  rub  an  idol.  Doing 
so  is  a  custom  of  the  country,  and  is  effica- 
cious, probably,  as  the  pious  have  persisted 
in  it  for  centuries  and  have  worn  out  many 
of  their  sacred  images  making  themselves 
well. 

Of  course,  there  are  a  few  side  studies  to 
attend  to,  also,  such  as  jerking  the  gong, 
hanging  like  a  huge  flattened  sleighbell  over 
the  steps  at  the  entrance  of  the  temple  where 
Butsu,  the  idol,  sits;  and  giving  the  shaven- 
pated  caretaker  of  the  image  three  or  four 
copper  coins  with  square  holes  in  them.  As 
it  would  take  2,000  of  these  coins,  which  are 
called  rin,  to  equal  an  American  gold  dollar, 
the  cost  of  bell-ringing  and  idol-rubbing  is 
not  excessive. 

If  the  rin,  the  ring  and  the  rub  do  not  ef- 
fect a  cure,  take  a  bath  and  try  again.  Facil- 
ities for  ablution  are  always  at  hand  in  Japan. 
The  cleansing  places  near  the  temples  are 
155 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

often  extremely  rich  in  decoration,  even  gor 
geous,  but  always  in  harmony  with  the  na- 
tural groves  surrounding  them. 

After  a  wash,  another  jerk  at  the  gong  and 
a  second  contribution  of  rin  one  may  rub 
with  renewed  faith  and  harder.  The  harder 
the  better,  for  the  exercise,  at  least,  is  health- 
ful. As  the  fruits  of  faith  are  not  often  pluck- 
ed the  moment  the  seed  is  planted,  it  will  do 
no  harm  to  take  another  bath  while  waiting 
to  be  cured  and  to  contribute  a  few  more  rin. 
This  pleases  Butsu,  and  the  polished  poll  of 
his  care-taker,  doing  obeisance  before  the 
image  and  picking  up  the  rin,  glistens  in  his 
smile. 

One  gains  some  little  knowledge  of  the 
physical  ills  of  the  Japanese  by  studying  the 
idols.  These  are  most  worn  in  the  sickest 
parts.  To  the  south  and  east  of  the  Empire, 
where  the  images  are  invariably  eviscerated, 
stomachache  undoubtedly  prevails;  to  the 
west  headaches  abound,  for  the  images  have 
no  foreheads;  and  to  the  north,  where  Butsu's 
thorax  is  worn  away,  haibiyo  (lung  sick)  is 
prevalent. 

Butsu  would  never  win  the  prize  in  a  beauty 
contest  outside  of  the  Far  East.  Often  enough 
156 


BUTSUZO  KOSHITE. 

his  image  is  anything  but  lovely  to  look  upon. 
Sometimes  he  is  stone,  sometimes  of  bronze 
and  often  of  wood.  He  wears  better  done  in 
bronze.  Then  all  the  suffering  parts  shine 
brightly.  In  .stone  these  spots  are  black  from 
handling  and  would  not  pass  an  inspection 
by  an  American  Board  of  Health.  In  wood 
he  is  sad  and  horrible,  having  been  lacquered 
bright  red  originally,  with  green  eyes,  round 
which  were  large  black  circles. 

In  a  few  years  the  lacquer  is  rubbed  off  the 
districts  of  affliction  and  the  wood  rapidly 
succumbs.  Knees,  elbows,  stomach,  chest, 
nose,  shoulders,  eyes  and  forehead  all  give 
way,  and,  unless  the  patchman  minds  his 
mending,  Butsu  will  become  "all  sick"  and 
disappear  entirely.  Generally,  though,  the 
patchman  is  diligent  and  keeps  Butsu  pretty 
well  up  to  weight  with  annual  abdomens  and 
such  other  restorations  as  are  necessary. 

This  idol-rubbing  has  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  Japanese  health  authorities,  who 
demand  a  strict  regard  for  cleanliness  on  the 
part  of  the  rubbers.  A  little  more  on  the  part 
of  the  rubbee  would  not  be  a  futile  precaution. 
The  images  have  exceptional  opportunities  to 
spread  disease,  and  were  they  of  service  in  a 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

country  not  inveterately  clean  they  would  be 
centres  of  permanent  epidemic.  As  it  is,  they 
grow  dirty  enough,  and  a  bath  would  do  them 
good. 

Faith  and  ignorance  in  equal  parts  con- 
tinue the  people  in  the  custom.  Sometimes 
the  faith  is  vicarious.  A  mother  whose  child 
has  opthalmia  will  hold  his  hand  against  the 
idol's  orbs  and  then  put  the  little  palm 
against  his  own  wee,  blinking  eyes,  saying, 
"Nam,  mada  Butsu" — words  of  which  she 
does  not  know  the  meaning,  but  whose  ac- 
cent declare  her  faith.  Always  the  idol  has 
the  first  rub,  and  then  the  afflicted  part  of  the 
sufferer. 

When  la  grippe  finally  reached  Tokio,  after 
its  long  eastward  journey  from  St.  Petersburg, 
it  found  the  people  easy  prey.  Soon  the 
whole  Empire  was  sick.  Schools,  barracks, 
offices,  factories  and  shops  closed  their  doors, 
and  the  rubbing  idols  thought  they  saw  their 
finish.  Had  the  epidemic  lasted  four  months, 
instead  of  two,  their  fears  would  have  been 
realized,  for  never  before  in  the  history  of 
Dai  Nippon  had  they  such  a  handling. 

The  scenes  in  the  temples  harboring  these 
idols  were  extraordinary,  for  the  disease 
158 


BUTSUZO  KOSHITE. 

seemed  to  pick  out  the  peculiar  weakness  of 
each  individual  independently,  and  no  two 
persons  in  the  crowd  appeared  to  be  rubbing 
themselves  quite  alike.  An  expert  contortion- 
ist could  not  have  accomplished  what  some 
of  these  devotees  attempted,  but  their  exer- 
tions were  beneficial,  viewed  as  calisthenics. 

The  groves  of  the  temples  wherein  are  the 
images  of  Butsu  are  the  children's  commons, 
where  all  the  youngsters  of  the  neighborhood 
gather  when  out  of  school.  There  the  baiya, 
or  nurses,  go,  with  their  tiny  charges  hang- 
ing to  their  backs,  and  there  are  the  old  men 
and  the  old  women. 

The  earlier  and  the  later  childhood  meet 
there.  Joy  brings  one  and  pain  the  other. 
Butsu  is  good  to  both.  He  smiles  upon  those 
that  are  merry,  and  they  are  merrier,  and  the 
peace  of  his  smile  soothes  those  that  are  in 
pain.  He  is,  indeed,  often  grotesque  and 
sometimes  horrible  as  the  natives  have  con- 
structed him,  but  many  of  his  images  are  of 
noble  dignity.  Peaceful  and  restful,  these 
features  of  the  founder  of  the  faith  of  millions 
of  human  beings  compel  attention.  Contem- 
plation ends  in  inspiration. 


GANJITSU. 


GANJITSU. 

Japan  is  the  jolliest  country  in  the  world  at 
New  Year's.  It  is  three  times  jolly,  in  fact. 
Each  January  i,  43,000,000  subjects  in  the 
land  of  the  Rising  Sun  begin  to  paint  the 
Mikado's  Empire  the  glorious  roseate  hue  of 
the  Imperial  emblem.  This  deep  red  harmony, 
they  say,  is  eminently  fitting  at  the  beginning 
of  the  year;  and  that  the  painting  may  be  well 
done,  they  administer  three  distinct  and  sep- 
arate coats  right  lavishly. 

The  bottom,  or  foundation  coat  is  two  full 
weeks  in  putting  on.  Joy  flows  in  streams 
along  the  thoroughfares,  swelled  by  rivulets 
from  every  house.  All  the  city  folk  call  on 
each  other;  all  the  country  folk  come  in  to 
help  them  do  it,  and  everybody  gives  every- 
body presents.  This  may  be  called  the  offi- 
cial New  Year's.  It  dates  only  from  1870, 
when  the  Japanese  Government  changed  its 
calendar  to  conform  with  that  of  the  rest  of 
the  world.  February  i  there  is  a  second  coat- 
163 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

ing — the  New  Year's  of  Old  Japan,  still  dear 
to  the  rural  heart.  All  the  country  folk  call 
one  on  another  and  the  city  folk  go  out  to 
help  them.  There  is  less  formality  about  this, 
and  less  eclat,  but  good-fellowship  abounds, 
and  joy  is  rampant  for  a  week. 

The  third  coating  is  given  in  good  old  Chin- 
ese style.  Its  date  depends  on  the  moon,  as 
does  our  Easter  festival.  Each  household 
celebrates  by  itself  in  part,  and  in  part  with 
outside  friends,  but  this  feast  is  more  domes- 
tic, though  not  less  sacredly  observed  than 
the  two  preceding. 

The  New  Year  season  is  the  time  to  see 
Japan  socially  at  its  best.  It  is  true  there  are  no 
kiku,  as  they  call  chrysanthemums,  nor  cherry 
blossoms.  The  kiku  is  in  the  fall  and  the 
sakura  in  the  spring,  both  seasons  when  all 
out  doors  is  a  garden  party  and  exquisitely 
picturesque,  but,  with  all  its  loveliness,  it  is 
only  the  outside  one  sees  then. 

To  see  into  the  homes  and  the  heart  of 
Japan  one  must  be  there  New  Year's.  Busi- 
ness generally  is  suspended,  both  private  and 
public.  All  is  wide  open  then,  and  hospitality, 
such  as  is  unknown  in  Europe  or  America,  is 
the  rule  without  exception. 
164 


GANJITSU. 

The  jin-riki-sha  coolie  is  the  only  one  that 
works,  but  his  task  hardly  is  irksome.  Wait- 
ing, he  feasts  in  the  kitchen  with  the  cook, 
while  his  fare  makes  a  call. 

The  geisha  has  her  busiest  season  at  New 
Year,  but  her  work  is  all  play,  which  she  en- 
joys quite  as  much  as  those  whom  she  enter- 
tains. Her  plaintive  love  songs  are  never 
sung  more  sweetly  than  at  the  beginning  of 
the  year,  when  the  heart  of  the  nation  warms 
anew.  The  geisha  is  very  near  that  heart, 
and  chirrups  sympathetically. 

The  Emperor  and  the  Empress  receive  for 
three  days.  On  the  first  day  only  those  of 
royal  blood,  the  highest  officers  of  state  and 
foreign  diplomats  make  their  bows.  Then 
follow  in  turn  personages  of  less  degree,  down 
to  those  who,  having  some  title  to  recogni- 
tion, are  honored  with  a  gracious  notification 
of  the  reception  at  the  palace,  but  are  expect- 
ed not  to  come. 

The  Princes  royal  and  their  consorts,  after 
paying  their  respects  to  the  throne  and  each 
to  the  other,  in  due  order,  according  to  de- 
gree of  kinship  to  the  Mikado,  receive  in  their 
turn  in  petty  state  the  Ministers  of  State,  di- 
plomats, members  of  Parliament,  distinguish- 
165 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

ed  folk  and  any  foreigners  who  may  wish 
to  pay  their  respects.  These  receptions  are 
extremely  formal  and  every  one  connected 
with  them  is  glad  they  continue  only  three 
days. 

The  grand  folk  on  the  fourth  day  join  the 
crowd  and,  like  them,  go  hither  and  thither 
to  every  accessible  acquaintance,  as  ordinary 
people  have  been  doing  from  the  early  morn- 
ing of  Ganjitsu,  New  Year's  day.  Of  course, 
no  one  can  call  on  every  individual  of  his 
acquaintance  in  the  empire,  so  he  resorts  to 
postal  cards,  which  he  dispatches  to  all  the 
friends  he  is  unable  to  see  personally. 

"Rejoicing  in  your  honorable  health  despite 
the  weather's  inclemency,"  Japanese  letters 
always  begin,  even  though  the  writer  has  no 
knowledge  either  of  the  honorable  health  or 
of  the  weather  in  the  place  where  his  friend 
may  be.  This  guess  is  followed  by  words  to 
this  effect: 

"August  consideration  honorably  vouch- 
safed during  past  year,  most  humbly,  most 
gratefully  acknowledged  jdeign  to  continue  the 
same  and  to  pardon  me  the  selfish  one,  the 
unspeakable  effrontery  of  venturing  to  ad- 
dress honorable  you.  Your  little  idot, " 

1 66 


GANJITSU. 

With  each  call  the  caller  presents  a  gift, 
usually  some  sort  of  food;  but  anything  will 
do,  even  money.  Boxes  of  eggs  are  in  de- 
mand; so  is  castera,  or  sponge  cake.  Castera 
is  from  the  Portuguese  or  the  Spanish,  who 
first  taught  the  Japanese  the  art  of  making 
that  dainty.  Wine,  beer,  all  sorts  of  canned 
goods  and  articles  of  apparel  are  distributed, 
too.  It  is  a  great  season  for  the  brewer,  the 
baker,  the  confectioner,  the  distiller  and  the 
hens. 

As  presents  come  in  such  profusion,  they 
would  accumulate  beyond  control  were  it  not 
for  the  custom  of  "passing  along."  It  is  not 
at  all  necessary  that  madam  should  eat  all  the 
eggs  that  are  given  to  her.  That  would  be 
difficult,  and  to  keep  them  long  about  the 
house  would  not  be  pleasant;  so,  after  reserv- 
ing whatever  she  chooses,  she  puts  her  card 
in  each  of  the  remaining  boxes,  and  when 
her  lord  and  master  comes  in  for  the  fresh 
supply  of  gifts  which  he  needs  in  order  to 
continue  his  round  of  calls,  she  hands  them 
to  him. 

Thus  replenished,  my  lord  starts  out  again, 
while  madam  stays  at  home  continuing  collect- 
ing. This  keeps  up  for  two  weeks,  during 
167 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

which  the  castera  and  the  eggs  do  not  grow 
fresher.  The  dealers  who  supply  these  com- 
modities, however,  provide  against  damage 
to  their  reputations  by  pasting  in  the  box  of 
cake  or  of  eggs:  "This  cake  was  baked  at  n 
p.  m.  December  31;  these  eggs  were  laid  at 
2  a.  m.  January  i,  kotoshi,"  (this  year) — or 
words  to  that  effect. 

As  these  presents  are  passed  along  they 
often  complete  the  circuit  and  arrive  at  the 
place  whence  they  were  first  sent  out,  but  it 
is  only  to  begin  the  tour  again.  There  is  no 
rest  for  a  Japanese  New  Year's  gift  until  it  is 
eaten  or  drunk  or  lost. 

All  one's  tradespeople  will  call,  bearing 
samples  of  their  wares  commensurate  with 
the  amount  of  patronage  each  man  has  re- 
ceived. They  present  these  samples  with  many 
profound  bows  and  a  request  for  a  continu- 
ance of  their  patron's  august  condescension 
during  the  ensuing  year. 

The  shops  are  closed  to  business,  but  open 
for  pleasure.  There  is  a  banquet  in  each 
home  from  early  morning  until  early  morn- 
ing every  day  of  the  two  weeks,  and  all  those 
who  have  honored  the  place  with  their  pa- 
tronage are  expected  to  call  and  bring  friends. 
1 68 


GANJITSU. 

Foreigners  seem  to  be  particularly  welcome 
at  this  time,  especially  Americans,  for  the 
common  people  love  America.  A  man  from 
the  States  might  begin  to  feast  early  January 
I  and  continue  feasting  until  January  15  if  he 
could  endure  it,  even  among  strangeis.  They 
would  show  more  genuine  hospitality  than  his 
own  cousins  would  at  home. 

As  there  is  plum  pudding  for  Christmas  in 
England  and  turkey  forThanksgiving  in  Amer- 
ica, so  there  is  mochi  and  shirozaki  for  New 
Year's  in  Japan.  Mochi  is  good,  and  so  is 
shirozaki.  Mochi  is  made  of  rice  boiled  in 
fresh  water  and  pounded  in  a  mortar  until  it 
is  dough,  then  rolled  out  like  a  yard  of  baker's 
bread,  cut  into  slices  and  laid  to  dry  till  a 
slight  crust  forms,  when  it  is  ready  to  toast. 
Often  boiled  beans  are  worked  into  the  dough 
till  the  casual  globe  trotter  might  mistake  it 
for  peanut  candy. 

Shirozaki  is  white  and  thick,  quite  different 
from  the  thin,  pale  sherry  color  of  atarimai- 
zake,  or  ordinary  sake.  It  is  sweet  and  whole- 
some, made  of  rice,  with  the  body  of  the  fer- 
mented grain  left  in. 

The  country  folk  repeat  this  grand  two 
weeks  of  celebration  February  i.  They  are 
169 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

slow  to  adopt  new  customs,  though  they  en- 
joy the  official  New  Year  in  town  hugely,  if 
they  can  "get  to  go."  City  folk,  especially 
those  who  long  for  the  good  old  days,  are 
with  their  cousins  in  the  country  for  the  sec- 
ond feasting,  and  stay  the  week  with  them. 
Then  when  the  moon  changes,  comes  the 
oldest  feast  of  all,  the  Chinese  New  Year's, 
and  the  country  rests  for  eleven  months. 

The  custom  of  New  Year's  calls,  once  so 
prevalent  here,  was  introduced  into  Holland,  it 
is  said,  by  the  Dutch  merchantmen  who 
traded  with  Japan  early  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury. Tradition  holds  them  responsible  for 
the  bustle  too,  developed  from  the  obe.  Both 
of  which  importations  are  in  small  evidence 
in  busy  America  these  days. 


SHIBAYA  TO  YAKUSHA. 


SHIBAYA  TO  YAKUSHA. 


One  needs  gymnastic  eyes  to  be  an  actor 
in  Japan  and  a  laminated  throat.  The  eyes 
count  for  more,  however.  A  good  eye  wig- 
gler  need  not  want  for  a  position.  An  india- 
rubber  face  is  useful  also,  for  "making  faces" 
is  an  art  with  the  Japanese  stage  folk.  The 
achievements  of  these  artists  are  illustrated 
accurately  by  the  contorted  countenances 
shown  on  the  cheap  paper  fans  so  plentiful  in 
summer-time.  These  fan  illustrations,  be  they 
never  so  grotesque  and  weird  and  fantastic, 
are  exact  representations  of  stage  scenes. 
They  are  not  exaggerations.  The  garments 
shown  in  the  pictures,  which  conceal  so  ef- 
fectively all  outline  of  the  human  form,  are 
stage  costumes  such  as  Japanese  actors  wear 
to-day,  and  the  faces,  in  spite  of  the  distor- 
tion they  display,  are  portraits  of  theatrical 
stars,  that  any  one  familiar  with  the  native 
theatre  would  recognize  immediately. 

There  are  no  better  equipped  actors  in  the 
173 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

world  than  those  found  on  the  Japanese 
boards.  The  theatres,  too,  such  as  Meijiza 
and  Kabukiza,  in  Tokio,  are  excellent  with 
their  electric  lights,  their  revolving  stages  and 
their  simple  yet  beautiful  scenery.  Many 
of  the  plays  would  be  intelligible  to  an  audi- 
ence that  did  not  know  a  word  of  Japanese. 
Danjuro  and  Kikiguro  speak  a  world  language 
and  will  make  you  laugh  and  cry  at  will.  It 
is  a  pity  they  cannot  be  prevailed  upon  to 
make  an  American  tour.  Their  versatility  is 
marvelous.  They  play  comedy,  tragedy  and 
farce,  in  either  male  or  female  parts.with  equal 
facility  and  felicity.  They  were  born  to  the 
stage,  as  were  their  parents  and  grandparents 
before  them  for  a  dozen  generations.  They 
have  acted  from  the  time  theywere  of  sufficient 
size  to  be  seen  by  the  spectators.  With  such 
inheritance  and  such  training  it  would  be 
strange  if  they  did  not  excel. 

In  spite  of  all  this  excellence,  however,  it  is 
only  recently  the  theatre  has  been  in  good 
repute  in  the  Mikado's  Empire.  Count  In- 
ouye's  famous  garden  party  in  the  fall  of  1887, 
at  which  his  Imperial  Majesty  was  present 
and  saw  Danjuro,  Kikiguro  and  other  great 
artists,  has  set  the  seal  of  supreme  approval 
174 


SHIBAYA  TO  YAKUSHA. 

upon  a  professon  that  before  that  time  had 
been  tabooed. 

In  the  census  of  old  Japan  the  actors  were 
enumerated  "ippiki,  ni  hikki,  sambiki,"  etc. 
That  seems  harmless  enough  until  it  is  ex- 
plained that,  in  counting  in  Japanese,  ichi,  ni, 
san,  shi,  go,  roku,  etc.,  certain  auxiliaries  to 
the  numerals  are  used,  according  to  the  kind 
of  things  that  are  being  counted.  For  in- 
stance, human  beings  are  mei,  and  are  count- 
ed ichi  mei,  ni  mei,  sam  mei,  etc.  Flat  things, 
such  as  sheets  of  paper,  are  mai:  ichi  mai,  ni 
mai,  etc.;  houses  are  ken:  ikken,  ni  ken,  sam- 
ben,  etc.;  boats  are  so :isso,  ni  so,  san  zo,  etc.; 
and  living  creatures,  except  human  beings 
and  birds,  are  hiki:  ippiki,  nihiki,  sambiki,  shi 
hiki  etc.  Actors,  therefore,  came  under  the 
general  classification  of  beasts. 

The  upper  classes  kept  away  from  the 
theatres,  but,  in  spite  of  all,  strong  plays  were 
produced,  and  financially,  at  least,  the  "pro- 
fession" prospered.  Today  distinguished 
actors  are  received  in  the  homes  of  persons 
of  the  highest  rank. 

The  Japanese  theatre  is  the  only  place  left 
in  which  one  can  study  the  ways  of  old  Japan. 
Though  it  retains  many  of  the  ancient  crudi- 
175 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

ties,  it  is  accurate  in  presenting  historical  cus- 
toms. Its  language,  even,  is  ancient,  and  the 
intonation  of  the  actors  marvelous  and  ter- 
rible. No  such  voices  are  heard  off  the  stage. 
A  half  minute's  attempt  to  imitate  the  sounds 
they  produce  will  give  one  the  quinsy.  The 
throat  is  contracted  until  the  veins  stand  out 
like  whipcords  and  the  blood  seems  ready  to 
burst  from  every  pore  in  the  actors  face. 
Then  the  eyes  roll,  individually  and  indepen- 
dently, up  and  down,  or  north  and  south,  or 
east  and  west,  at  the  same  time.  The  iris  disap- 
pears entirely.  This  is  done  especially  when 
the  eye  wriggler  wishes  to  demonstrate  that 
he  is  bold  and  bad. 

The  bearing  of  the  actors  cast  for  kings 
and  queens  brings  to  mind  the  old  miracle 
plays.  To  walk  like  ordinary  mortals  would 
not  do  for  royalty  or  for  personages  of  any 
sort.  They  must  strut  like  a  German  recruit 
breaking  in.  It  is  something  to  remember 
the  entrance  of  a  Chinese  Emperor  as  he 
comes  down  the  aisle  through  the  audience. 
At  each  step  his  foot  rises  quite  to  the 
level  of  his  chin  while  his  revolving  eyes  ap- 
pear to  be  two  inches  in  diameter.  All  this 
seems  childish  enough  to  ruin  the  effect  of 


SHIBAYA  TO  YAKUSHA. 

the  most  excellent  acting,   but  it  does  not. 

Japanese  actors  die  hard — on  the  stage.  It 
is  appalling  to  see  how  long  they  last.  They 
stagger  about,  still  slashing  at  each  other, 
after  they  are  shot  as  full  of  arrows  as  a  por- 
cupine is  full  of  quills.  The  first  arrow  would 
have  done  for  them  anywhere  but  in  the 
theatre.  Stage  blood  is  over  everything;  but 
the  audience  delights  in  gory  scenes,  and  the 
actors  must  stick  it  out.  Arms  and  legs  are 
lopped  off.  The  wounded  roll  over  and  disap- 
pear while  a  "dummy"  limb  appears  through 
the  floor  and  twitches  about  the  stage  in  a 
way  not  pleasant  to  weak  nerves. 

The  lime  light  has  not  come  into  general 
use  as  yet.  Instead,  a  black-hooded  mute, 
with  a  bamboo  pole,  at  the  end  of  which  is  a 
lighted  candle,  moves  about  with  much  agil- 
ity and  illumines  the  chief  actor's  counten- 
ance by  means  of  the  sputtering  dip.  To  the 
stranger  this  jet  black  elf  is  a  whole  show  in 
himself  and  a  serious  distraction  from  the 
drama,  but  after  a  while  he  ceases  to  attract 
notice.  He  is  forgotten  and  the  actor  holds 
the  entire  attention. 

Another  distraction  is  the  orchestra,  and  a 
dismal  one  it  is  to  the  uninitiated.  To  the 
177 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

average  American  a  dozen  hungry  and  indig- 
nant cats  would  do  as  well.  This  orchestra 
usually  is  at  one  end  of  the  stage,  behind  a 
screen,  which  conceals  the  appalling  physiog- 
nomies of  the  members,  but  does  not  add 
harmony  to  the  sounds.  The  "music"  and 
"singing"  continue  without  a  pause  all  the 
time  the  curtain  is  up.  The  songs  are  inde- 
scribable. The  tone  is  something  between 
the  squeal  of  a  pig  and  the  wail  of  a  lost  soul, 
but  it  has  a  fitness,  one  discovers  after  sev- 
eral hearings,  especially  during  the  blood-and- 
thunder  acts.  When  a  battle  is  on  this  discord 
is  quite  in  harmony  with  the  interminable 
slaughter. 

The  general  appearance  of  the  Japanese 
stage  is  much  the  same  as  the  stage  in  an 
American  theatre.  The  stage  itself  revolves, 
but  otherwise  the  scenery  is  managed  about 
as  it  is  in  this  country.  The  actors,  when 
they  die,  are  attended  to  by  the  hooded  elfs, 
who  see  them  safely  away  behind  blankets. 
The  audience  does  not  applaud  by  hand- 
clapping;  it  shouts  the  actor's  name. 

It  is  a  comfortable  audience,  with  any 
amount  of  time.  Plays  begin  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning  and  continue  until  seven  in 
178 


SHIBAYA  TO  YAKUSHA. 

the  evening.  Different  theatres  give  per- 
formances at  different  hours,  however.  In 
some  places  the  doors  open  only  in  the  even- 
ing. The  floor  of  an  empty  theatre  looks  like 
a  checker  board.  There  are  no  chairs.  The 
entire  seating  space  is  partitioned  off  into 
squares  by  means  of  railing  about  a  foot  above 
the  soft-matted  floor.  A  square  holds  a  half- 
dozen  spectators.  Generally  they  have  their 
tea  and  lunch  with  them,  including  plenty  of 
sake,  carried  in  gourds. 

Between  the  acts  they  visit  about  the  house 
and  exchange  sake  cups.  Occasionally  actors 
come  down  to  see  them,  and  always  receive 
a  present,  just  as  geisha  do.  All  sorts  of 
hawkers  of  food  and  drink  run  about  on  the 
railings,  offering  their  wares  to  the  specta- 
tors. Smoking  goes  on  all  through  the  per- 
formance. Occasionally  a  spectator  curls  up 
for  a  nap  to  carry  him  through  a  portion  of 
the  play  he  does  not  care  for. 

When  an  act  is  ending  the  curtain  man 
announces  it  by  a  nerve-shattering  racket, 
made  with  two  hard  pieces  of  wood  which  he 
beats  together.  As  the  curtain  falls  all  the 
children  in  the  place  rush  for  the  stage  and 
have  a  merry  game  of  tag.  Often  they  crawl 
179 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

behind  to  see  what  is  going  on.  No  one  in- 
terferes with  them  nor  shows  the  least  an- 
noyance at  their  pranks.  The  stage  is  theirs 
until  the  clatter  man  sends  the  curtain  up 
again. 

Japanese  theatrical  methods  are  far  ahead 
of  the  methods  that  obtain  in  China.  The 
Chinese  theatre  is  familiar  to  some  extent  to 
Americans,  for  one  may  see  it  wherever  there 
is  a  Chinese  colony,  notably  in  San  Francisco, 
Portland,  Or.,  and  New  York  city;  but  the 
Japanese  theatre  has  stayed  at  home.  A  good 
Japanese  troupe,  aided  by  a  clear  libretto  and 
intelligible  notes,  would  make  a  decided  hit 
in  this  country  if  the  manager  knew  his  busi- 
ness. 

At  present  there  is  little  differentiation  in 
the  American  mind  between  things  Japanese 
and  Chinese.  This  annoys  the  subjects  of 
the  Mikado,  for  they  are  not  related  to  the 
people  they  recently  conquered.  Neither  in 
blood  nor  in  language  is  there  any  connec- 
tion whatever,  except  that  Japan  has  borrow- 
ed from  the  Chinese  many  words  and  written 
characters. 

Foreigners  in  Japan  enjoy  the  theatre;  but 
in  China  hardly.  There  is  no  way  of  stopping 
1 80 


SHIBAYA  TO  YAKUSHA. 

a  Chinese  play.  Once  it  is  fairly  started  it 
runs  until  the  theatre  is  burned  down  or  the 
actors  die  of  old  age.  Many  Japanese  plays, 
however,  are  of  the  same  structure  and  dur- 
ation as  English  plays.  Where  the  theatre  is 
open  all  day  the  play  is  broken  in  two,  and 
between  the  two  sections  a  sketch,  something 
like  a  curtain  raiser,  fills  in. 

On  the  Japanese  stage  dead  men  are  taken 
off  by  attendants.  They  do  not  jump  up  and 
trot  off  in  the  merry  Chinese  fashion.  The 
orchestra  in  Japan  is  not  all  tomtom,  either; 
nor  is  it  on  the  stage,  mixed  up  with  the 
actors.  Indeed,  some  of  the  performances 
on  the  Samisen  are  full  of  life  and  exceeding- 
ly clever.  Japanese  scenery  is  well-nigh  per- 
fect, and  the  revolving  stage,  of  which  the 
Chinese  know  nothing,  saves  much  time. 

Recently,  too,  in  Japan,  mixed  troupes  are 
allowed.  Men  and  women  may  appear  on 
the  stage  together.  This  is  not  allowed  in 
China.  It  is  in  no  great  favor  as  yet  in  Japan, 
because  the  old  ideas  are  not  gone  yet,  and 
Japanese  plays  are  most  realistic.  Perhaps 
the  appearance  of  women  in  companies  with 
men  will  curtail  this  realism. 

Since  the  war  the  theatre  has  prospered 
181 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

mightily  and  prices  have  gone  up.  Still,  two 
dollars  is  not  a  great  sum  to  pay  for  twelve 
hour's  use  of  a  good  box  and  a  chance  to  see 
much  that  is  ludicrous,  but  also  much  that  is 
admirable  and  instructive. 


\ 


RIO. 


RIO. 

The  pace  of  the  gilded  youth  in  Japan  is 
quite  as  rapid  as  it  is  in  other  countries.  In 
fact,  it  is  so  fast  that,  as  Walter  Besant  once 
said  of  a  man  who  was  running  away  from  a 
bear,  "it  was  manifest  to  the  most  casual  ob- 
server that  the  primary  effort  was  speed." 

The  Prince  of  Sendai  set  such  a  pace  in 
the  days  of  the  Shogunate  that  the  Court  re- 
monstrated, and  told  him,  if  he  had  money  to 
burn,  he  had  better  burn  it  to  some  advan- 
tage to  the  state.  Thereupon  he  ordered  the 
Prince  to  dig  a  moat  through  Surugadai,  the 
highest  hill  in  Yeddo.  This  moat  completed 
a  sort  of  spiral  canal  around  the  Shogun's 
palace.  It  took  3,000  men  two  years  to  dig 
this  ditch,  and  is  known  as  "Sendai's  Sorrow." 

Sendai's  chief  exploit,  one  that  brought  him 
national  notoriety,  was  hiring  the  entire  Yo- 
shiwara  and  closing  the  gates  while  he  enter- 
ained  his  friends.  The  Yoshiwara  is  a  com- 
munity by  itself  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
185 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

and  contains  some  1,900  geisha  and  other 
persons  whose  lives,  so  long  as  they  remain 
there,  are  dedicated  to  joy  and  sin.  To  hire 
the  whole  Waldorf-Astoria  in  order  to  take  a 
nap  would  be  on  a  par  financially  with  this 
act  of  Sendai's. 

Sendai  liked  the  "  no"  dance,  which  is,  in- 
deed, perfect  in  its  dainty  grace;  but,  like 
classic  music,  one  cannot  learn  to  appreciate 
it  in  an  afternoon.  A  long  course  of  training 
is  necessary.  This  training  is  expensive  when 
one  persists  in  it  on  the  scale  that  Sendai  fol- 
lowed. He  delighted  to  look  over  his  sake 
cup  while  500  beautifully  robed  geisha  pos- 
tured before  him  in  rhythmic  motion,  like  a 
field  of  flowers  swaying  in  the  wind. 

He  gave  great  dances  on  all  the  festal  days, 
sometimes  on  a  flotilla  in  the  river  and  some- 
times beneath  the  cherry  blossoms  along  the 
banks  of  Sumida  Gawa.  He  would  hire  a 
theatre,  with  a  company  of  actors,  and  give  a 
continuous  performance  for  a  week,  with  the 
little  square  pens  in  the  pit  filled  with  singing 
girls,  all  banqueting. 

The  tea-houses  that  he  patronized  grew 
rich,  for  his  custom  was  to  order  "  the  best 
in  the  world,  and  all  there  is  of  it."  He  would 
1 86 


RIO. 

have  broken  the  Satsuma  dishes  off  which  he 
fed  if  he  had  not  been  too  thoroughly  an 
artist. 

He  ate  kami-boku,  made  of  the  little  kernel 
of  flesh  taken  from  the  head  of  tai,  a  kind  of 
perch  much  esteemed  by  Japanese  epicures. 
Court  nobles  would  have  relished  the  bodies, 
but  Sendai  threw  these  away.  He  ate  moun- 
tain-sparrow soup,  that  even  the  Shogun  had 
only  once  a  year,  when  he  offered  food  to  the 
spirits  of  his  ancestors. 

With  all  this  he  seems  to  have  kept  his 
health,  owing,  perhaps,  to  his  practice  of 
fencing  with  the  long  two-handed  bamboo 
swords,  that  are  popular  to  this  day.  The 
exercise  is  tougher  than  either  broadsword 
or  rapier,  for  which  reason  the  fencers  need 
well-padded  armor.  No  European  has  a 
chance  at  sword-play  against  a  Japanese  ex- 
pert and  this  two-handed  weapon. 

Of  the  Prince  of  Sendai  it  was  said  that  he 
could  draw  his  sword  and  take  off  an  enemy's 
head  in  a  single  stroke.  Of  course,  being  a 
great  swell,  he  had  blades  that  were  worth 
many  times  their  weight  in  gold.  One  could 
not  be  a  swell  without  owning  good  swords, 
for  "the  sword  was  the  soul  of  the  samurai," 
187 


TALES  FROM  TOK1O. 

Sendai,  like  others  in  his  class,  went  in  for 
archery,  too,  and  could  shoot  while  standing 
in  his  stirrups  or  from  under  his  horse's  neck. 
Archery  is  still  a  gentleman's  pastime  in 
Japan;  likewise  polo,  with  scoop-nets  instead 
of  mallets.  It  is  rough  work,  but  not  as  fierce 
as  the  game  played  at  Newport,  at  Hempstead 
or  at  Prospect  Park. 

Netting  for  ducks  is  more  popular  than 
gunning  for  them  among  the  young  bloods 
of  Japan.  A  hill  over  which  ducks  fly  at  night 
and  morning  is  pegged  out  till  it  looks  as 
though  covered  with  mining  claims.  Each 
post  bears  its  owner's  name  and  indicates  his 
stand.  The  numbers  are  changed  at  inter- 
vals to  give  each  net-man  a  fair  chance.  He 
uses  a  net  about  eight  feet  square,  which 
hangs  on  a  pole  something  as  a  banner,  but 
which  is  rigged  so  as  to  keep  it  spread.  When 
the  ducks  begin  to  come  over  the  pole  is 
tossed  into  the  air,  and,  if  well  launched,  will 
intercept  a  bird  and  bring  it  to  the  ground. 

Tea-drinking  hardly  would  seem  to  come 
under  the  head  of  a  sport  or  to  appeal  to  a 
man  that  led  a  fast,  fierce  life.  But  Sendai 
spent  enough  at  it  to  make  a  dozen  experts 
in  its  ceremonies  independent  for  life. 
1 88 


RIO. 

Chamberlain  says  the  art  of  drinking  tea 
has  gone  through  three  stages — medico-relig- 
ious, luxurious  and  esthetic.  In  Japan  the 
Zen  sect  of  Buddhists  used  tea  in  certain  of 
their  ceremonies,  because  it  kept  them  awake. 
A  priest  named  Eisai,  who  wished  to  reform 
a  youthful  Shogun  who  drank  too  much  sake 
and  sham-shiu,  got  him  interested  in  tea  by 
elaborating  a  diverting  set  of  rules  for  drink- 
ing it.  When  the  ceremony  was  well  estab- 
lished in  the  august  favor  the  old  priest  gave 
the  Shogun  tracts  on  the  beneficial  effects  of 
tea,  how  it  regulated  the  whole  system  and 
drove  out  devils — might,  indeed,  be  preferred 
to  the  gold  cure. 

Eisai  worked  in  a  good  deal  of  religion 
along  with  his  tea,  but  the  ceremony  of  drink- 
ing grew  more  and  more  worldly,  until  it  was 
all  luxury  and  no  religion.  The  swells  drank 
tea  daily  in  gorgeous  apartments,  hung  with 
brocade  and  damask,  where  they  burned 
precious  perfumes  and  served  rare  fishes  and 
strange  birds  with  sweetmeats  and  wine,  and 
in  time  lost  their  fortunes  and  themselves  in 
an  extravagance  of  etiquette. 

The  rules  ordained  that  all  the  things  rich 
and  rare  that  were  exhibited  were  to  be  given 
189 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

to  the  singing  and  dancing  girls,  troops  of 
whom  were  present  to  aid  the  company  in  its 
carousal.  Vast  inheritances  disappeared,  but 
while  the  custom  lasted  it  gave  a  great  stim- 
ulus to  art. 


UTA. 


UTA. 

Gaku  is  a  Japanese  word,  which  in  the  dic- 
tionaries is  translated  as  music.  If  you  ever 
hear  any  gaku  you  will  wonder  what  is  the 
matter  with  the  dictionaries.  You  will  sus- 
pect their  trustworthiness  ever  after  and  con- 
sult them  with  hesitancy. 

Gaku  should  be  translated,  "a  series  of  ir- 
regular and  disconnected  vocal  squeaks  ac- 
companied on  strings  out  of  tune  and  inter- 
spersed with  wads  of  noise."  That  would  be 
comprehensive  and  exact,  except  when  the 
vocal  squeaks  are  omitted.  Without  the 
squeaks  gaku  is  the  same  in  kind — unqualified 
and  wilful  discord,  but  not  so  much  of  it. 

The  dictionaries  would  have  you  believe 
also  that  the  vocal  squeaks  are  singing.  They 
say  that  uta  means  song,  that  utau  means  to 
sing  and  that  "o  uta  utau  nasai"  means  hon- 
orable song  to  sing  condescend — i.  e.,  please 
sing  a  song.  That  is  pretty  poor  guessing, 
even  for  an  English-Japanese  dictionary.  "O 
193 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

uta  utau  nasai"  should  be  translated,  "bring 
me  some  cotton"  (for  my  ears  being,  of 
course,  understood.)  With  your  ears  well 
stuffed  you  may  listen  to  gaku  without  going 
mad.  Otherwise  it  is  difficult 

There  are  many  kinds  of  gaku  in  Japan, 
each  of  which  is  worse  than  any  of  the  others, 
with  one  exception  that  may  be  made  oc- 
casionally in  favor  of  classical  gaku.  Classical 
gaku  is  esoteric,  so  very  esoteric  at  some  of 
the  Shinto  festivals  that  only  the  motions  of 
producing  discord  are  made  and  the  soul- 
piercing  uta  is  left  out  as  well.  These  are 
the  only  times  you  will  not  desire  cotton. 

When  court  musicians,  the  most  classical 
of  all  gaku  folk  in  Japan,  do  break  out  into 
sound  the  air  is  torn  with  distress.  There  is 
something  in  it  to  suggest  the  March  of  the 
Conquerors  as  they  advance  between  the 
parallel  lines  of  dead,  and  also  a  tidal  wave 
full  of  cats,  pawing  helplessly  in  the  foam, 
clamoring  for  succor. 

Yet  all  this  pleases  the  Japanese  ear  so  that 
the  more  discordant  of  the  gakunin  acquire 
fame  and  are  talked  about.  But  the  gaku 
itself  never  attracts  notice.  No  one  discusses 
it;  no  one  cares  who  composed  it  Classical 
194 


UTA. 

gaku  is  a  thousand  years  old,  likely  two  thou- 
sand, for  it  came  over  from  China  back  some- 
where in  the  sixth  century  and  has  not  grown 
better  ever  since.  No  one  knows  how  long 
it  afflicted  China  before  leaving  for  the  Land 
of  the  Rising  Sun. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  now  and  again  a  gaku- 
nin  dies  of  heart  failure  or  of  congestion  of 
the  brain.  He  strains  so  in  squeezing  out  the 
uta  that  his  neck  swells  and  the  veins  stand 
out  as  though  it  were  bound  with  clothesline. 
His  eyes  are  bloodshot  and  his  face  a  dull 
brown  purple,  while  he  growls  and  gags  and 
yawps  until  he  reaches  the  convulsion  point. 

Then  he  unlimbers  his  neck  and  thrusts  it 
out  like  a  chicken  reaching  for  a  bug,  and  the 
blood  receding  leaves  his  face  the  color  of 
washed-out  leather.  It  is  estimated  that  with 
each  word  he  expends  enough  energy  to 
wind  a  Waterbury  watch. 

When  several  gakunin  unite  in  crime  they 
pay  no  attention  to  key  nor  to  harmony,  for 
such  things  do  not  concern  gaku.  They  do, 
however,  keep  in  common  time  together,  the 
only  time  the  Japanese  wot  of.  Each  strains 
and  exhausts  himself  independently  of  the 
others  in  any  way  he  can  produce  discord. 
J95 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

As  there  is  no  notation  for  any  but  the  clas- 
sical gaku,  all  must  be  handed  down  by  word 
of  mouth  and  learned  from  the  living  teacher. 
Wee  girls  sit  for  hours  each  day  before  the 
instructor — usually  a  woman  past  the  flower 
of  her  youth  and  no  longer  in  demand  in  the 
tea-houses — and  practice  at  the  "break," 
the  point  just  between  the  lower  and  higher 
register,  where  all  the  possible  raspiness  of 
her  little  voice  can  be  brought  to  complete 
development. 

All  Japanese  uta  are  rendered  at  the 
"break."  This  is  a  cruel  surprise  to  the  for- 
eigner when  he  first  hears  it,  for  nothing 
further  from  his  expectations  well  could  be 
when  the  dainty  maid  sits  down  before  him, 
with  a  winsome  smile,  her  samisen  resting 
on  her  knee  and  her  taper  fingers  playing  up 
and  down  the  strings.  He  is  utterly  unpre- 
pared for  the  series  of  weird,  discordant 
notes,  which  sound  more  like  an  incantation 
to  "blue  devils"  than  what  the  interpreter 
assures  you  it  is — a  love  song. 

In  the  theatres  the  gaku  and  uta  continue 

throughout  the  performance — that  is,  in  some 

of  the  best  houses — from  early  morn  till  dewy 

eve.  The  gakunin  sit  in  boxes  behind  screens 

196 


UTA. 

at  each  end  of  the  stage.  They  are  marvel- 
ously  old,  with  necks  like  camels  and  India 
rubber  faces. 

Nothing  like  them  exists  anywhere  else  on 
earth. 


GEISHA. 


GEISHA. 

This  was  some  little  time  ago.  Gardner 
was  in  New  York  City  and  had  been  to  see 
"  The  Geisha"  at  Daly's.  He  thought  it  a 
pretty  affair,  but  had  chuckled  to  himself  sev- 
eral times  at  points  the  rest  of  the  audience 
thought  touchingly  sentimental.  There  were 
half  a  dozen  Japanese  in  the  box  next  to  him 
and  they  chuckled,  too.  After  the  play  he  had 
some  friends  to  supper  over  at  Del's  and  ex- 
patiated to  them  as  follows: 

"  If  those  Geisha  up  at  Daly's  were  real 
geisha  we  might  get  them  to  take  charge  of 
the  party  for  us.  All  we'd  need  to  do  would 
be  to  tell  them  what  we  wanted,  and  it  would 
be  done  to  the  Queen's  taste.  We  shouldn't 
need  to  raise  a  finger. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  "this  little  party  would 
be  managed  perfectly  without  a  thought  from 
us,  if  we  had  some  of  the  sweet  Japanese 
singers.  No  one  would  think  of  giving  even 
a  dinner  without  them  in  Japan,  whether  it 
201 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

was  to  be  in  a  public  teahouse  or  in  a  private 
dwelling.  They  are  indispensable.  They 
make  everything  go  successfully.  The  mission 
of  the  geisha  is  to  make  life  merry.  Her 
whole  education  is  to  that  end. 

"She  can  dance  and  sing  and  play  on  all 
sorts  of  musical  instruments;  she  knows  the 
best  stories  and  the  latest  jokes;  she  is  quick 
at  repartee;  the  games  she  doesn't  know  are 
those  that  have  not  yet  been  invented.  She 
is  as  graceful  and  as  frolicsome  as  a  kitten, 
and  as  beautiful  as — well,  as  the  Daly  geisha; 
and  her  manners  are  simply  exquisite. 

•'Only  dead  folk  can  withstand  the  geisha's 
charms,  and  it  is  doubtful  about  them.  Her 
mirth  is  the  best  of  tonics.  It  will  mend  one 
when  anything  is  the  matter  with  one's  health. 
They  say  over  there  that  she  cures  everything 
but  diseases  of  the  heart.  These  she  is  likely 
to  aggravate,  and  she  doesn't  need  more  than 
half  a  chance,  either! 

"In  Japan  every  one  is  always  entertaining 
some  one.  Few  things  happen  that  do  not 
demand  a  feast.  Consequently  the  geisha  is 
seldom  out  of  sight — that  is,  literally  speak- 
ing. She  appears  at  the  festal  place  soon 
after  the  earliest  arrivals,  or  about  two  hours 
202 


GEISHA. 

before  dinner  is  announced.  It  is  the  custom 
in  her  country  for  guests  to  come  ahead  of 
time  instead  of  behind  time. 

"You  get  your  first  sight  of  her  as  she  bows 
low  at  the  threshold,  her  hands  palm  down 
on  the  floor  before  her  and  her  face  pressed 
close  against  them.  As  she  bows  she  says 
'Omina  sama  gomen  kudasai,'  which  means, 
'Honorable  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Everybody,  august 
pardon  deign.'  'Ha  irashai,'  call  out  some  of 
the  guests  as  they  look  up  from  the  chess 
boards  or  tiny  packs  of  hana  cards  with  which 
they  have  been  playing.  Irashai  means  wel- 
come, and  the  geisha  enter  to  take  possession 
of  the  teapots,  serve  the  guests  and  'jolly*  ev- 
ery one.  Their  entrance  is  not  the  least  bit 
wabbly,  as  one  might  think  from  the  pretty 
performance  at  Mr.  Daly's  theatre.  The  robes 
are  quite  too  long  for  any  gait  like  that.  Daly's 
winsome  lasses  must  have  gotten  their  ideas 
of  the  Japanese  foot  motions  from  a  study  of 
native  women  dressed  in  European  style. 
Japanese  women  do  walk  queerly  when  their 
feet  are  incased  in  high-heeled  boots.  Their 
gracefulness  is  gone  then,  the  glide  that  holds 
their  sandals  on  becomes  a  shuffle,  and  the 
inward  swing  of  the  right  foot  caused  by  the 
203 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

side  pull  of  the  kimono,  which  clings  so  close- 
ly to  the  figure,  develops  into  pigeon  toe. 

"When  a  geisha  has  served  tea  all  round 
and  had  a  dainty  'fling'  at  every  one,  she 
glides  off  to  the  kitchen  to  see  that  the  sake, 
the  sashime,  the  kwashi  and  other  things  are 
ready.  She  has  an  artist's  eye,  and  can  serve 
raw  fish — which  sounds  anything  but  appetiz- 
ing to  Westerners — so  daintily  on  a  lacquered 
tray  that  you've  simply  got  to  try  a  little. 

"As  soon  as  the  portions  are  arranged  she 
glides  back  to  the  guest  room  with  china 
bottles  full  of  hot  rice  beer.  She  puts  bowls 
of  water  full  of  tiny  cups  at  intervals  about 
the  room  before  the  guests,  who  are  arranged 
along  the  border  of  the  apartment  To  each 
one  she  offers  a  cup,  and  then  pours  out  the 
sake,  with  a  bow,  saying:  'Please  condescend 
to  drink  one  full.'  With  the  wine  come  kwashi, 
that  is,  different  kind  of  cakes,  which  she 
serves  on  little  oblong  brazen  dishes. 

"This  seems  like  beginning  with  the  des- 
sert, but  it  is  quite  the  proper  way  in  Japan. 

"While  the  guests  are  busy  with  this  'starter' 

of  kwashi  and  sake,  the  geisha  glides  to  the 

door  and  puts  on  her  evening  robes.    She 

doesn't  go  out  of  the  room  to  do  this,  for  she 

204 


GEISHA. 

is  a  lightning-change  artist,  and  as  the  day- 
time garments  are  sliding  from  one  shoulder 
the  clinging  folds  of  the  evening  gown  are 
upon  the  other,  and  with  a  bit  of  a  shrug  and 
a  wriggle — she  changes  from  a  thrush  to 
a  nightingale. 

4<An  assistant  binds  the  robe  with  a  broad 
sash,  tied  in  a  square  knot  behind  (which,  by 
the  way,  is  the  original  bustle),  and  she  comes 
purring  among  the  guests  once  more. 

"She  brings  trays  of  lacquered  bowls  and 
china  cups,  with  soups  and  fish  of  many  kinds, 
until  before  each  guest  there  is  a  fair  founda- 
tion for  an  art  museum.  Then  she  brings 
out  her  samisen,  a  three-stringed  square-head 
banjo,  and  plucking  with  her  bachi  tunes  it 
to  the  weirdest  key  that  sounds  were  ever 
known  to  give.  The  sad  melody  of  waters 
beating  on  a  foreign  shore  as  the  surf  sprite 
sings  of  loneliness — such  is  the  geisha's  music 
and  her  song.  As  she  plays  her  younger 
sister  dances.  Not  as  we  dance  here,  nor  as 
any  of  Mr.  Daly's  geisha  dance.  There  is 
nttle  motion,  but  much  harmony  of  line,  as 
she  turns  about  and  postures  and  wields  her 
fan  so  deftly  that  it  seems  to  hover  in  the  air 
as  if  it  were  a  moth  above  a  candle  light. 
205 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

"Her  posing  tells  more  clearly  than  any 
words  might  do  the  story  of  her  elder  sister's 
song.  It  is  a  love  story  always.  It  couldn't 
be  anything  else,  when  a  geisha  sings  it.  It 
is  not  'Chon  Kino,'  however,  unless  she  is  a 
treaty-port  geisha,  and  a  cheap  geisha  at  that; 
for  'Chon  Kino'  is  sung  in  dives  only,  and 
except  in  treaty  ports  there  are  no  dives  in 
the  whole  country.  'Chon  Kino'  is  sung  for 
sailors,  the  natives  call  them  'Damyo'eyes 
San'  by  a  class  of  girls  unknown  in  Japan  be- 
fore foreigners  arrived,  and  its  origin  is  not 
Japanese  at  all,  but  was  taught  by  the  early 
Dutch  to  their  temporary  Nagasaki  wives. 

"It  is  really  part  of  a  game  of  forfeit,  after 
the  manner  of  'Simon  says  thumbs  up.'  The 
usual  forfeit  after  'Yokohama  Nagasaki,  Ho- 
kodate,  Hoi!' is  to  take  off 'one  piece  of  cloth.' 
This  forfeiting  continues  until  there  isn't  any- 
thing more  to  take  off.  Whoever  has  the 
most  on  at  the  end  of  the  game  wins. 

Hillary  Bell  is  quite  right  in  his  opinion  of 
the  tea  houses  of  the  treaty  ports  and  of  the 
geisha  who  pose  therein.  He  says  that  those 
geisha  would  make  a  good  man  blush.  But 
don't  think  fox  a  minute  that  the  genuine 
geisha — those  of  inland  Japan — are  not  as 
206 


GEISHA. 

honest  and  pure-hearted  as  any  woman  in  the 
world.  It  is  a  mighty  serious  mistake  to  sup- 
pose that  "geisha"  is  synonymous  for  easy 
virtue. 

"Geisha  dancing  is  often  pantomime,  and 
where  a  half  dozen  of  them  dance  together, 
they  are  'a  whole  show  in  themselves.'  They 
would  be  delighted  with  their  counterparts, 
as  Mr.  Daly  presents  them,  but  they  would 
be  amused,  too,  at  the  funny  differences. 
Fluffy  hair  is  not  Japanese,  petticoats  are  not 
worn  under  kimono;  high  heels  would  play 
sad  havoc  with  the  delicate  tatarni  that  cover 
Japanese  floors;  waraji,  or  rough  straw  san- 
dals are  not  worn  in  the  house  except  in  the 
kitchen.  Geisha  either  go  barefoot  or  in  socks 
reaching  just  above  the  ankle,  fastened  with 
broad  flat  hooks;  these  socks  or  tabi  as  they 
are  called  have  a  pocket  for  the  big  toe  like 
the  thumb  pocket  in  a  mitten. 

"Real  geisha  never  hug  each  other  nor 
even  hold  hands — much  less  kiss.  There  is 
no  such  personal  contact  in  Japan,  except  be- 
tween parents  and  young  children.  Geisha 
do  not  cross  their  hands  over  the  breast. 
When  they  bow  they  bend  over  as  though 
giving  a  back  for  a  game  of  leapfrog.  The 
307 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

hands  are  pressed  against  the  knees  and  the 
spine  is  horizontal. 

"And  another  thing,  conspicuous  by  its  ab- 
sence at  Daly's,  it  would  be  a  sad  time  for  the 
dear  little  girls  if  they  hadn't  even  one  smoke 
in  a  whole  evening!  Geisha  carry  pipes  of 
gold  and  silver  bronze,  with  which  they  enjoy 
ippuka,  one  whiff,  from  time  to  time  taking  a 
pinch  of  mild  tobacco  from  the  leather  pouch 
each  one  has  slipped  into  her  obi.  And  the 
idea  of  a  public  wedding  would  throw  them 
into  convulsions.  Weddings,  as  we  under- 
stand them,  are  unknown  in  Japan.  Marriage 
is  purely  a  family  affair.  There  is  no  relig- 
ious and  no  civil  ceremony.  The  bride  goes 
to  the  bridegroom's  home,  goes  through  a 
formal  pretense  of  drinking  sansan  kudo, 
nine  cups  of  wine,  with  her  future  master, 
and  there's  the  end  of  it!  The  census  man 
will  mark  her  change  of  residence,  which  is 
all  the  notice  the  civil  authorities  take. 

"It  would  surprise  geisha,  too,  to  know  that 
they  could  be  bought  and  sold  so  easily.  A 
geisha  is  usually  indentured  to  a  teacher  when 
she  is  young.  Or,  perhaps,  the  teacher  pays 
the  parents  for  a  release  and  then  adopts  the 
child.  But  even  then  she  is  not  owned.  Her 
208 


GEISHA. 

contract,  if  she  is  indentured,  stipulates  a  sum 
on  payment  of  which  she  is  to  be  released. 
If  she  is  adopted  and  later  runs  away  and 
marries,  there  is  no  chance  to  recover  her." 


TURAMPU. 


TURAMPU. 

"Hitotsu,  futatsu,  mitsu,  yotsu,  itsutsu — aka 
bakari,"  said  Prince  Sakusama  as  he  counted 
a  straight  flush,  beginning  with  the  ace  of 
hearts,  and  laid  it  on  the  low  ebony  table  in 
one  of  the  famous  tea  houses  onSumida 
Gawa. 

"I  win?"  he  asked  as  he  paused  a  moment 
and  looked  around  at  his  companions.  "Ara- 
gato  de  gozalmasu" — the  chips  and  Peach 
Blossom,  too.  "Shall  I  put  her  in  the  kitty?" 

"If  Your  Highness  did  so,"  said  a  young 
baron  who  had  just  returned  with  an  Embassy 
from  London,  "all  of  us  would  play  to  lose, 
for  as  Your  Highness  has  deigned  to  declare 
the  rules  of  the  game  give  the  kitty  to  the 
player  that  is  hit  hardest  To  play  poker  to 
lose  would  be  to  debauch  its  pristine  purity." 

"We  must  never  do  that,  Baron,  surely. 
Let  us  play  a  round  of  jacks." 

He  clapped  his  hands,  and  from  the  far  in- 
terior of  the  tea  house,  beyond  many  parti- 
213 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

tions  of  paper  sliding  doors,  an  answering 
"Hai  tadaima,"  long  drawn,  soft  and  musical 
floated  in,  telling  the  prince  that  his  sum- 
mons had  been  heard.  A  moment  later  and 
the  paper  doors  at  the  end  of  the  room  slid 
noiselessly  in  their  grooves  and  disclosed  a 
bunch  of  daintiness  on  the  tatami  just  out- 
side. 

It  was  Peach  Blossom,  kneeling  low,  with 
her  face  almost  touching  the  soft  bamboo 
matting,  and  her  tiny  hands  pressed  palms 
down  together  just  before  her. 

She  besought  His  Highness  to  deign  to 
pardon  her  audacious  effrontery  in  respond- 
ing to  the  august  summons  and  begged  that 
if  he  would  condescend  to  command  so  un- 
worthy a  piece  of  stupid  mud  as  she  he  would 
deign  to  consider  her  ready  to  receive  the 
augustly  honorable  orders. 

"Sake,"  said  the  Prince,  and  as  Momo-no- 
Hana  closed  the  sliding  door  and  pattered 
away  for  the  hot  rice  beer,  His  Highness  tore 
the  cover  from  a  fresh  pack  of  cards  and  be- 
gan to  shuffle  them.  The  Baron  cut  and  the 
game  proceeded. 

Five  better  poker  faces  were  never  gather- 
ed about  a  table.  There  was  not  a  sign  of 
214 


TURAMPU. 

nerves  in  any  one  of  them.  Each  player 
skinned  his  hand  and  decided  whether  to 
draw  or  to  pass  or  to  stand  pat,  but  never  a 
sign  of  his  thoughts  was  given  in  his  coun- 
tenance. Each  had  the  expression  of  a  door 
knob.  Good  hands  and  bad  hands  come  to  a 
door  knob,  but  one  can  tell  nothing  of  them 
by  looking  at  it. 

These  five  men  in  the  tea  house  on  the 
bank  of  the  Sumida  Gawa,  which  flows 
through  the  heart  of  Tokio,  bore  some  of  the 
best  known  names  in  the  Japanese  Empire. 
Three  of  them  had  been  daimiyo  and  had 
owned  provinces  as  absolutely  as  anything 
may  be  owned  in  this  world.  Their  revenues 
had  been  counted  by  the  100,000  koku.  They 
had  lived  in  royal  state,  each  with  his  castles 
and  his  army  and  board  of  councilors. 

But  Commodore  Perry  had  changed  all 
that,  and  now  these  men  were  living  in  the 
capital  with  one-tenth  their  former  incomes, 
and  no  one  to  support  or  to  worry  about  out- 
side their  personal  households. 

Of  the  other  two  His  Highness,  Prince  Sak- 

usama,   was  of  the  Shogun's  family,   which 

had  ruled  the  Empire  until  the  restoration,  in 

1868,  and  the  other  was  of  the  samurai  class. 

215 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

His  fathers  had  been  fighting  men  for  full 
2,000  years,  and  his  family  records  showed. 
He  had  studied  abroad,  was  a  graduate  of 
Harvard,  an  M.  A.  of  Oxford  and  a  Ph.  D.  of 
Heidelberg.  It  was  said  that  he  had  carved 
his  name  on  the  face  of  a  German  student 
who  had  been  so  unlucky  as  to  challenge 
him.  He  was  a  vice  minister  now,  and  had  ' 
married  the  daughter  of  a  merchant  with 
money  to  burn.  Before  1871  he  would  have 
been  sentenced  to  harakiri  for  doing  that.  All 
five  had  learned  to  play  abroad.  They  had 
been  together  in  a  Japanese  club  in  London 
the  presiding  genius  of  which  was  the  Con- 
sul General,  who  knew  the  great  American 
game  as  well  as  a  Kentucky  colonel. 

Now  that  they  were  at  home  again,  they 
were  only  too  willing  to  meet  wherever  a 
chance  afforded,  and  the  tea  house  of  the 
Rising  Moon  knew  them  well.  Its  mistress 
was  glad  to  see  them  always,  for  the  players 
and  their  friends  were  a  hungry  and  thirsty 
lot,  and  did  not  spare  the  kitty,  out  of  which 
the  chief  loser  had  to  pay  all  expenses. 

The  round  of  jacks  was  under  way  when 
Mono-no-Hana  came  with  the  sake.     When 
sake  is  ordered  in  a  tea  house  food  is  served 
216 


TURAMPU. 

with  it,  for  the  host  knows  well  the  evil  ef- 
fects of  drinking  on  an  empty  stomach.  So 
Omomo  San  was  followed  by  a  procession  of 
toylike  darlings,  each  with  a  dainty  morsel  on 
china  dishes  and  lacquered  trays.  All  these 
bearers  of  nectar  and  ambrosia  were  geisha 
and  indentured  to  masters  of  various  geisha 
homes.  Rumor  had  it  that  for  certain  sums 
of  money,  doubtless  much  exaggerated,  the 
indenture  papers  of  the  more  bewitching  of 
these  geisha  had  changed  hands,  so  that  the 
sweet  singers  were  come  under  the  guardian- 
ship of  men  of  noble  birth,  who  in  the  olden 
days  would  have  cut  in  two  the  master  of  a 
geisha  house  and  been  accountable  to  no  one. 

The  last  jackpot  of  the  last  round  bore  out 
this  rumor,  for  when  the  last  call  was  made 
and  His  Highness  had  reckoned  up  the  con- 
tents he  found  Cherry  Bud,  Chrysanthemum 
and  Plum  Blossom  were  added  to  his  list, 
besides  Little  Pony  and  One  Thousand  Joys. 
He  had  won  the  whole  procession. 

Looking  out  over  the  slow  Sumida  and 
watching  the  house  boats  with  their  gay  paper 
lanterns  as  they  were  poled  along  the  shores 
in  the  light  of  the  rising  moon,  he  dipped  his 
sake  cup  in  the  basin  and  handed  it  to  him 
217 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

who  had  lost  just  too  little  to  be  entitled  to 
the  kitty,  saying: 

"Kono  tsugi  anata  oumbai  ii  desho 
Dozo  ippai  onomu  na  sai." 
Which  means,  being  literally  interpreted: 
"Next  time  your  honorable  luck  good  prob- 
ably will  be, 

Graciously  condescend  a  cupful   of  sake  to 
imbibe." 


SYONARA. 


SYONARA. 

Japanese  callers  come  early  and  stay  late — 
particularly  if  you,  the  callee,  are  a  foreigner. 
They  like  to  look  at  you.  They  are  easy 
enough  to  entertain,  too,  if  you  do  not  mind 
being  stared  at.  But  they  never  go.  At  least, 
no  one  but  Dara  Santara  ever  went,  and  he 
did  so  only  once.  He  could  not  do  so  again, 
for  he  did  not  come  back.  This  achievement 
(which  was  partly  ours)  emphasizes  the  rule. 
Here  is  the  story. 

Dara  Santara  was  in  the  habit  of  calling  on 
us  on  Nichiyobi  regularly.  Nichiyobi  is  the 
seventh  day  of  the  Japanese  week  and  cor- 
responds with  our  Sunday,  though  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  religion.  It  is  rather  jol- 
lier and  happier  than  other  days,  that  is  all. 

Gardner  and  I  had  enjoyed  it  in  peace  and 
restfulness  until  Dara  discovered  us.  It  was 
our  home  day.  We  were  satisfied  to  be  by 
ourselves.  It  had  been  a  comfort  in  anticipa- 
tion and  a  delight  when  it  arrived.  But  Dara 
221 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

changed  all  that.  He  was  the  nephew  of  our 
next-door  neighbor,  a  retired  naval  captain, 
who,  though  a  cripple,  was  courteous  and 
kindly  in  the  extreme.  Moreover,  he  spoke 
a  little  English,  which  made  him  the  more 
agreeable,  whereas  Dara  did  not  know  more 
than  three  words. 

We  were  still  snoozing  on  our  futon  v/hen 
Dara  made  call  number  one,  and  he  had 
bowed  twelve  times  before  we  had  gotten  the 
makura  kinks  out  of  our  necks  sufficiently  to 
bow  back  at  him.  Makura  are  excellent  pil- 
lows, once  one  is  used  to  them;  but  that  takes 
years.  Usotsuki,  a  young  student  who  inter- 
preted for  us,  said  Dara  was  extremely  sorry 
to  disturb  us.  Dara's  sorrow  was  manifested 
by  a  smile  that  divided  his  countenance  into 
hemiphizes.  Our  sorrow  was  as  intense  but 
different. 

We  told  Kintaro  to  make  Dara  comfortable 
and  to  excuse  us  for  a  moment.  Then  we 
rolled  out  of  our  nemaki  and  into  our  boiling 
bath.  When  we  came  out  we  were  red,  and 
breakfast  was  ready.  Dara  sat  with  us  on  his 
shinbones  and  heels,  with  his  feet  crossed 
under  him,  and  nearly  added  another  inch  to 
his  smile  in  an  effort  to  eat  an  olive  with  his 

222 


SYONARA. 

knife.  We  did  not  care  much  for  olives  for 
breakfast,  but  Usotsuki  had  put  them  on 
the  table  and  Dara  seemed  to  like  them. 

Generally,  too,  we  discarded  knives  and 
forks  and  ate  with  hashi,  like  the  natives,  but 
this  morning  we  brought  out  the  American 
implements,  thinking  they  might  interest  our 
guest.  They  did.  He  ate  everything,  even 
butter,  which  is  not  usual  among  the  Japan- 
ese. Indeed,  he  managed  to  spear  the  balls 
floating  in  the  bowl  of  iced  water  and  swal- 
lowed them  with  an  indrawn  hiss,  like  the 
sound  of  a  small  skyrocket. 

Dara  ate  until  there  was  nothing  left  but 
the  utensils  and  a  bottle  of  tabasco  sauce.  He 
wept  over  that. 

When  Dara  had  done  complimenting  us  he 
smiled  and  said,  "O  gotso  sama."  From  Usot- 
suki's  explanation  earlier  in  the  day  we  judged 
from  Dara's  smile  that  he  had  a  stomach 
ache.  We  were  not  surprised;  we  were  only 
mistaken. 

"He  say  very  glad  too  much  eatings,"  Kin- 
taro  explained. 

"We  did  not  know  he  was  coming  or  we 
might  have  prepared,"  Gardner  explained. 
This  seemed  to  please  Dara  greatly  when  it 
223 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

was  translated  to  him,  and  he  said  he  would 
come  again  next  Nichiyobi.  Gardner  told 
him  to  come  any  day  he  liked,  but  he  replied 
that  official  duties  hindered  him  except  on 
that  one  day. 

Then  he  sat  and  sat,  we  the  meanwhile 
wondering  what  to  do  for  him.  We  showed 
him  all  our  American  photographs.  He  was 
interested,  and  did  us  the  honor  to  ask  for 
the  only  pictures  of  our  families  that  we  pos- 
sessed. He  smiled  when  we  said,  "No,"  but 
he  had  a  puzzled  look  about  the  eyes. 

Then  we  showed  him  some  books  on  Japan, 
over  which  he  chuckled  like  an  infant.  After 
that  we  took  some  snapshots  of  him.  The 
minute  he  faced  the  camera  his  smile  turned 
to  haughtiness  and  he  looked  like  a  brazen 
image,  which  is  the  proper  Japanese  pose; 
but  when  he  saw  the  negative  in  our  dark 
room  a  little  later  he  was  tickled.  We  prom- 
ised to  send  him  proofs  in  a  few  days,  and  he 
bowed  and  smiled  and  stayed. 

Kintaro  announced  tiffin — always  an  elab- 
orate meal  with  us  on  Nichiyobi.  Dara  stay- 
ed, and  was  as  active  as  at  breakfast.  His 
compliments  were  loud  and  long.  We  were 
fond  of  his  uncle,  so  we  said  nothing,  but  we 
224 


SYONARA. 

were  eager  for  "our  Sunday."  We  wanted  to 
lounge  and  to  stroll  about  the  gardens  of 
the  old  temple  in  which  we  lived  and 
over  into  the  older  temple  we  were  using 
as  a  school  house.  We  wanted  to  chat 
together  of  things  at  home,  to  finish  our 
letters  and  be  at  rest.  But  there  were  none 
of  these  things  for  us  this  day,  nor  the  follow- 
ing Nichiyobi,  either,  for  he  remembered  his 
promise,  which  we  had  forgotten  altogether. 

That  second  day  of  visitation  was  not  a 
keen  delight.  Then  came  a  third  and  a  fourth. 
What  should  we  do?  We  could  not  be  rude. 
Not  for  a  year's  rent  would  we  have  disturbed 
that  kindly  gentleman,  the  captain.  We  did 
not  wish  to  flee.  We  wanted  to  have  our 
home  to  ourselves  this  one  day  in  the  week. 

We  must  resort  to  strategy.  And,  in  fact, 
to  use  an  Americanism,  we  put  up  a  job  on 
Dara  Santara.  Though  outwardly  polite  and 
friendly,  we  had  concocted  and  concealed 
within  our  hearts  a  wicked  scheme.  It  was 
done  in  this  wise: 

As  every  one  knows,  sake  is  the  national 

drink  of  Japan.     It  is  a  pale,  sherry-colored 

liquor  or  beer,  made  of  rice.   It  is  joyous  and 

harmless,  though  exhilarating  to  the  Japan- 

225 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

ese.  Foreign  liquors,  like  foreign  tobacco, 
are  too  strong  for  them.  Our  friend  did  not 
know  this,  however. 

After  tiffin  No.  4  we  tried  some  American 
cigarettes  on  Dara,  which  he  smoked  until 
he  was  a  little  dizzy.  Tabaka  yota — tobacco 
drunk,  the  natives  call  the  sensation.  Then 
we  gave  him  some  of  our  "sake,"  highly 
sweetened.  He  had  a  curiosity  to  taste  the 
foreign  product,  and,  like  all  Japanese,  he 
liked  plenty  of  sweetness. 

We  loaded  his  tumbler  with,  syrups,  but 
also  with  liquors  and,  I  fear,  nearly  three 
fingers  of  "fire  water,"  for  it  was  a  tall  English 
glass,  holding  almost  a  pint.  Our  glasses  held 
a  mixture  of  the  same  in  color,  but  innocent 
of  dynamite. 

Our  deception  was  base  but  successful. 
Dara  smacked  his  lips  and  smiled  half  way 
round  his  head  over  the  first  swallow.  His 
face  reddened  as  he  continued  to  imbibe  but 
he  persisted  with  the  courage  of  a  sentenced 
feudal  lord  in  the  days  of  hara  kiri.  By  the 
time  he  had  drunk  all  his  head  stuck  up 
through  the  top  of  his  kimono  like  a  poppy 
and  his  smile  was  saggy  at  the  ends. 

He  murmured,  "Taihen  uroshi,  gotso  sama, 
226 


SYONARA. 

gomen  na  sai,  syonara,"  and  then  sailed 
sweetly,  with  many  curves,  out  through  our 
garden,  his  kimono  following  like  a  comet's 
tail  and  his  geta  playing  leap  frog  and  filling 
the  air  with  their  wooden  clamor. 

Though  we  have  felt  guilty  ourselves,  we 
have  never  blamed  Dara  Santara  that  he  did 
not  return. 


NIHON  NO  ICHIBAN 

SHIWAI  JIMBUTSU. 


NIHON  NO  ICHIBAN 

SHIWAI  JIMBUTSU. 


Kono  Hito  was  the  closest  man  in  Japan. 
He  lived  near  a  temple  less  than  one  hun- 
dred ri  from  Kanazawa  on  the  west  coast.  If 
he  had  been  further  from  the  temple  he 
would  have  been  just  as  close,  but  he  might 
not  have  discovered  the  fact  to  the  world,  nor 
have  wasted  away  on  account  of  his  unlovely 
trait. 

Kono  Hito  was  a  farmer.  He  raised  rice. 
To  do  so  he  had  to  have  water,  and  plenty  of 
it,  thousands  of  tsubo,  as  the  Japanese  say.  A 
tsubo  is  the  size  of  two  mats,  or  thirty-six 
square  feet.  He  owned  over  fifty  fields,  ly- 
ing side  by  side  without  fences  separating 
them.  Only  a  low  ridge  of  earth  marked 
the  boundary  of  the  field,  and  this,  when  the 
rice  had  grown  a  bit,  was  quite  out  of  sight. 
At  the  time  of  planting  these  ridges  are 
mushy,  but  at  harvest  time  they  are  dry  and 
231 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

hard,  so  that  one  could  walk  on  them  easily 
if  he  has  occasion.  The  way  Kono  did  was 
to  throw  seed  rice,  that  is,  rice  kernels  in  the 
shell,  over  the  surface  of  the  tiny  ponds, 
where  it  sprouted  and  wove  into  a  tangled 
mat  of  deep,  rich  green.  When  the  rice 
blades  were  six  inches  long  and  had  well- 
formed  roots  he  would  disentangle  them, 
and,  gathering  them  in  clusters,  would  plant 
them  in  the  mud,  at  two-foot  intervals,  along 
rows  parallel  and  two  feet  apart.  This  made 
the  rows  regular,  like  the  lines  of  a  checker 
board,  with  a  bunch  of  rice  wherever  two 
lines  met.  The  board  itself  was  all  water  at 
first,  and  had  to  remain  water  until  nearly 
time  for  harvest,  for  Kono  Hito  grew  swamp 
rice  only.  He  said  there  was  no  money  in 
upland  rice.  It  was  too  hard  and  would  not 
sell  for  the  cost  of  growing  it. 

A  drought,  therefore,  was  about  as  bad  a 
thing  as  could  happen  to  Kono  Hito.  He 
must  have  water  or  go  to  the  money  lenders, 
and  once  he  went  to  them  there  would  be  no 
end  of  going  until  they  had  possession  of  his 
rice  fields.  That  is  the  fate  of  those  who 
borrow,  as  Kono  Hito  knew  well.  So  he 
built  dams  above  his  fields,  to  make  reser- 
232 


NIHON  NO  ICHIBAN  SHI  WAI  JIMBUTSU. 

voirs;  he  dug  ditches  from  one  field  to  the 
other,  and  he  observed  the  Buddhist  fast 
days.  In  spite  of  all  this,  however,  his  crops 
turned  yellow  earlier  than  those  of  Sono 
Hito,  the  rice  grower  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  highway  that  ran  between  their  paddy 
fields  to  the  temple  and  beyond. 

"  Komaru  ne,"  said  Kono  Hito,  as  he  came 
along  the  road  in  his  jin-riki-sha  one  day. 
"  Doshimashoka,"  But  though  he  spoke  to 
himself  of  trouble,  and  asked  himself  what 
he  should  do,  he  did  not  talk  out  loud.  He 
kept  more  fast  days,  worked  harder  in  his 
sloppy  fields,  built  tiny  shrines  like  dolls' 
houses  at  his  reservoirs,  and  brought  the 
household  economy  down  to  such  a  fine 
point  that  Okamusan,  his  wife,  dared  not  lose 
so  much  as  a  grain  of  rice  in  a  month.  But 
with  all  his  prayers  and  his  skimping,  he  had 
not  water  enough.  His  fields  were  brown 
when  Sono  Hito's  were  yet  green.  "  Hontoni 
komaru!"  Trouble,  indeed! 

Sono  Hito,  the  meanwhile,  was  not  worry- 
ing. He  was  a  patriarch  in  the  "  Home  of 
Happy  Husbandmen"  and  never  had  bad 
years,  ever  though  he  kept  few  fasts  and  was 
not  more  than  half  careful  of  his  reservoirs. 
233 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

A  lot  of  folk  worked  for  him,  however,  and 
without  knowing  it,  but  they  were  glad  to  do 
so. 

They  were  good  Buddhists  of  the  Hoganji 
sect,  passing  daily  to  the  grand  old  temple 
overlooking  the  sea.  They  offered  alms  to 
Buddha,  and  ere  they  offered  they  washed 
themselves,  as  good  folk  do  before  they  wor- 
ship. Sono  Hito,  of  course,  knew  this,  for  he 
went  to  the  temple  himself  sometimes,  and 
took  the  preparatory  bath  just  as  the  others 
did. 

It  was  while  he  was  taking  one  of  these 
baths  that  the  idea  that  resulted  in  Kono 
Hito's  "  komaru"  occurred  to  Sono.  This  is 
the  idea.  Sono's  rice  fields  reached  quite  up 
to  the  temple  grove.  He  would  build  a 
shrine  in  honor  of  the  temple's  god  a  little 
this  side  the.gate  of  the  temple  and  near  the 
road,  and  he  would  sink  a  well  there.  It 
would  needs  be  a  deep  well,  it  is  true,  but 
Sono's  crops  had  been  good  and  he  would  not 
begrudge  the  cost.  Having  dug  the  well  he 
would  place  a  tablet  before  the  shrine  bear- 
ing a  declaration  of  the  dedication  of  his  of- 
fering to  the  temple's  god  on  behalf  of  those 
who  worshiped  there.  He  would  give  each 
234 


NIHON  NO  ICHIBAN  SHIWAI  JIMBUTSU. 

worshiper  all  the  pure  water  he  might  desire 
for  a  bath,  and  would  not  charge  him  for  it. 
All  the  worshiper  need  do  would  be  to  help 
himself. 

Sono  had  been  a  traveler.  He  knew 
"  Yokohama,  Nagasaki,  Hakodate  hoi"  per- 
sonally, for  he  had  been  there.  He  had  seen 
missionaries  in  Tokio  and  merchants  in  the 
treaty  ports.  One  of  the  missionaries  had 
shown  him  a  praying  water  wheel  from  India. 
It  was  part  of  a  collection  the  pious  man  had 
gathered  at  various  stations  he  had  occupied 
in  the  Far  East.  Sono  delighted  in  these 
things,  but  the  praying  wheel  pleased  him 
most.  If  he  had  had  a  place  to  set  one  up  on 
his  west  coast  rice  fields  he  would  have 
begged  the  missionary  to  get  him  one  from 
the  ancient  home  of  Buddhism. 

Some  days  after  he  had  seen  this  supplica- 
tion-made-simple  apparatus,  so  much  simpler 
than  the  man-power  prayer  wheels  of  the 
Tokio  temples,  Sono  received  an  invitation 
from  the  missionary's  friend,  who  was  a  silk 
merchant  in  Yokohama.  This  man  wished  to 
make  friends  on  the  west  coast,  especially  in 
Fukui  and  Kanagawa  Kens,  where  the  worms 
spin  well.  Sono,  always  ready  "  to  see  the 

235 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

new  thing,"  to  learn  something  and  have  a 
good  time,  took  the  train  at  Shimbashi  that 
afternoon,  and  within  an  hour  was  at  the 
"  Yama  Namban,"  as  jin-riki-sha  coolies 
called  the  merchant's  house. 

Sono  Hito  had  a  wonderful  time  at  this 
foreigner's  home.  The  yoshoku,  the  setsuin, 
the  nedai  and  the  danru,  with  its  kemuri- 
dashi,  were  marvelous  to  him,  but  the  thing 
that  tickled  him  especially  was  what  he  called 
the  midzu-age  kikai,  or  water-raising  ma- 
chine, not  far  from  the  kitchen  ,door.  He 
played  with  this  a  half  hour  steadily,  until  he 
was  all  of  a  sweat  and  had  flooded  his  host's 
back  yard  and  turned  the  tennis  court  into  a 
soppy  marsh. 

Nothing  would  do  but  he  must  have  one 
to  operate  at  his  home  over  on  the  west 
coast,  and  as  the  kikai  was  not  in  stock  at 
any  of  the  Yokohama  agencies,  Sono  Hito's 
host  promised  to  get  one  for  him  from  San 
Francisco. 

"  I'll  send  it  over  to  you  as  soon  as  it  ar- 
rives," said  Mo  Hitosu  Smith  San  (he  was  the 
second  Smith  to  come  to  Yokohama  after 
Perry's  departure.  The  first  Smith  was  simply 
"Smith  San,"  but  the  second  was  Mohitotsu, 
236 


NIHON  NO  ICHIBAN  SHIWAI  JIMBUTSU. 

i.  e.,  more  than  one  Smith,  Mr.).  He  did  bet- 
ter than  that,  however;  he  took  the  apparatus 
over  himself  three  months  later,  and  showed 
his  Japanese  friend  how  to  set  it  up  and  how 
he  could  use  it  to  fill  a  storage  tank  so  as  to 
have  water  for  emergencies. 

So  Sono  had  men  dig  the  well  wide  and 
deep.  There  was  not  such  another  well  in 
that  part  of  the  country. 

Kono  Hito,  across  the  road,  had  nothing  in 
the  least  comparable.  He  would  not  have 
spent  so  much  money  on  a  well  had  he  been 
ever  so  rich,  and  in  these  days  he  thought 
himself  a  very  poor  man  indeed.  It  grieved 
him  to  think  anything  that  cost  money  should 
be  necessary  in  his  household.  The  sight  of 
his  people  eating  made  him  ill,  and  the  pros- 
perity across  the  road  was  like  flre  against  his 
face.  He  could  not  endure  to  look  at  it. 

But  as  Kono  Hito  suffered  Sono  Hito 
worked  at  his  well  shrine.  The  building  was 
as  simple  in  design  as  a  Shinto  temple.  In- 
side, over  at  one  end,  was  a  broad,  shallow 
wooden  tank  for  the  bather  to  sit  in,  and  be- 
fore the  tank  ample  floor  space  where  the 
worshiper  would  have  room  to  use  his  tenui, 
or  scrubbing  towel,  such  as  all  Japanese  carry 
237 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

with  them.  At  the  end  opposite  the  tank  was 
the  shrine,  and  beside  the  tank  was  a  device 
strange  to  the  natives  on  the  west  coast. 
Sono  said  it  was  a  praying  wheel.  There  was 
a  gaku  over  it  bearing  the  inscription,  "  Bon- 
no  kuno,"  "  all  lust  is  grief,"  in  Chinese  char- 
acters. 

An  American  would  not  have  thought  the 
device  was  a  prayer  wheel.  He  would  doubt 
if  the  Japanese  used  water  prayer  wheels, 
and  would  have  said  "  chain  pump,"  though 
one  may  assert  with  considerable  confidence 
that  he  never  before  had  seen  a  chain  pump 
boxed  in  an  image  of  Buddha,  with  a  third 
arm,  in  the  shape  of  a  crank,  reaching  out 
from  one  side  and  projecting  over  a  bathtub. 

Sono  Hito  knew  all  about  the  apparatus, 
both  from  the  American  and  the  west  coast 
viewpoint.  He  was  the  only  person  that  did; 
but,  like  Brer  Rabbit,  "  he  wasn't  saying 
nuffin." 

In  fact,  the  American  who  did  see  this  de- 
vice guessed  right  the  very  first  time.  He  saw 
right  away  it  was  not  a  praying  wheel,  but  he 
kept  his  thoughts  quiet.  Sono  Hito  might 
call  it  a  praying  wheel,  and  each  bather,  as 
he  sat  in  the  tub,  might  turn  Buddha's  third 
238 


NIHON  NO  ICH1BAN  SHIWAI  JIMBUTSU. 
arm  with  vigor  and  pray  fervently,  chanting 
his  petitions  in  unison  with  the  rat-tat-rat-tat- 
tattle  in  Buddha's  stomach;  to  the  Yankee's 
mind  the  thing  would  be  a  chain  pump  still. 

Soon  after  this  visit  of  Smith  San's  it  was 
that  the  patriarch  of  the  Home  of  Happy 
Husbandmen  had  evolved  his  scheme  of 
joining  piety  and  prosperity  in  happy  com- 
bination by  giving  faithful  Buddhists  a  cata- 
ract bath  free  and  a  chance  at  the  praying 
wheel  thrown  in.  The  ancient  peoples  of 
China  and  India  had  used  these  wheels  with 
august  results.^Sono  Hito  told  the  worshipers, 
and  then  he  showed  them  also  how,  after 
pious  revolutions,  the  Divine  Pleasure  would 
give  them  water  from  above. 

Buddhists  take  cataract  baths  even  in  win- 
ter, though  possibly  they  do  not  enjoy  them 
then, at  least  not  with  obvious  hilarity.  In  To- 
kio  the  traveler  sees  native  men  and  women 
standing  naked  under  a  fall  of  water  in  some 
of  the  temple  parks.  In  December  and  Jan- 
uary this  water  is  well  down  to  the  freezing 
point. 

There  is  virtue  in  a  cataract.    Wherever 
one  is  that  place  is  sacred.    The  natives  take 
great  pains  in  making  artificial  falls  whenever 
239 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

possible,  especially  in  the  neighborhood  of 
temples.  They  are  purifiers  beyond  all  else, 
these  "from  heaven  descending"  streams. 
Therefore,  when  Sono  made  his  offer  of  a 
free  bath — a  cataract  bath!  something  the 
region  about  the  beloved  temple  had  not 
known  since  the  great  jishin,  the  earthquake 
that  hundreds  of  years  before  had  broken  up 
the  country,  let  out  the  upper  waters  and 
ruined  their  plans  of  holy  ablution — he  be- 
came the  most  popular  man  in  his  ken. 

He  was  deeply  grateful  to  his  American 
friend  who  had  showed  him  how  to  rig  the 
pump  so  as  to  deliver  water  overhead,  where, 
in  the  roof  of  the  shrine,  Sono  had  built  a 
sort  of  distributing  reservoir.  Part  of  the 
water  that  the  worshipers  pumped  into  this 
poured  down  in  a  stream  onto  the  head  of 
whoever  might  be  working  at  the  crank  as 
he  or  she  sat  in  the  tub.  The  greater  part, 
however,  flowed  away  into  the  channels  in 
the  rice  fields.  As  the  pious  came,  there- 
fore, and  worked  the  praying  wheel,  they  ac- 
complished three  things  at  once — irrigation, 
purification  and  "  to  pump."  These  ex- 
plained how  Sono  Hito  kept  things  green  and 
why  Kono  Hito  said  "  Komaru." 
240 


NJHON  NO  ICHIBAN  SHIWAI  JIMBUTSU. 

Kono  Hito  worried  greatly  over  the  early 
yellowishness  of  his  fields.  He  did  not  un- 
derstand how  Sono  Hito  managed.  He  never 
had  been  to  Yokohama,  and  he  knew  noth- 
ing of  chain  pumps.  He  believed  that  Sono 
Hito's  piety  had  won  favor  in  Buddha's  eyes, 
and  that  the  gods  had  blessed  the  fields  as  a 
mark  of  divine  pleasure.  If  he  could  have  a 
bath  shrine  he  might  win  favor,  too,  but  that 
would  cost  money,  and  then  to  give  the 
baths  free,  not  to  charge  even  a  ni  rin  piece 
for  them — the  thought  was  too  painful. 

Still,  if  Buddha  would  smile  on  him,  "it 
might  pay,"  thought  Kono.  It  would  pay — 
but  to  spend  the  money.  "  Domu!  Komaru 
ne."  So  he  devised  how  he  might  be  pious 
cheaply. 

"  Namu  Omahen  de  giisu,"said  the  wife  of 
Kono  Hito  when  a  man  called  one  morning 
to  see  her  lord.  She  meant  he  was  not  at 
home.  (In  Tokio  she  might  have  said:  "  lye 
ori  masen  de  gozaimasu."  That  would  have 
conveyed  a  similar  idea.) 

The  man  went  away.    Down  the  road  a  bit 

he  heard  a  voice  calling  "  Korario,"  which, 

to  those  who  live    in  that   region,    means 

41  come  here."    The  man  went  in  the  direc- 

241 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

tion  of  the  call  and  found  Kono  Hito  busy 
with  a  carpenter  and  a  well  digger,  discuss- 
ing plans  for  an  opposition  bath  shrine. 
Kono  Hito  was  in  agony  over  the  cost,  but 
the  workmen  had  reached  their  limit,  and, 
with  many  bows,  were  protesting  that  if  they 
cut  their  price  even  a  mo  lower  they  would 
not  have  enough  left  to  pay  for  the  air  they 
breathed  while  they  worked. 

So  Kono  gave  orders  for  them  to  begin  at 
once.  Within  a  week  the  plans  had  material- 
ized. There  was  a  well  with  a  pair  of  buck- 
ets, a  tub  and  a  shrine  dedicated  to  the  use  of 
worshipers.  It  was  not  a  cataract  bath,  nor 
was  the  well  deep,  but  Kono  Hito  hoped 
Buddha  would  take  his  penury  into  account 
and  smile  as  sweetly  as  though  the  water  fell 
direct  from  a  spring  on  the  mountain  side. 

But  Buddha  did  not  smile.  No  one  went 
to  Kono  Hito's  shrine  bath  unless  too  many 
had  gathered  at  the  place  across  the  way. 
"  Without  worshipers  Buddha  will  not  smile," 
said  the  unhappy  husbandman.  "  Komaru 
ne!"  And  later  he  said  to  himself,  "  Do  shi 
mashoka,"  which  brought  him  inspiration. 

He  took  a  station  at  a  point  that  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  road,  and  whenever 
242 


NIHON  NO  ICHIBAN  SHIWAI  JIMBUTSU. 

he  saw  those  coming  who  might  be  wor- 
shipers he  went  into  Hito's  shrine,  sat  him- 
self in  the  tank,  turned  the  crank  and  prayed 
vigorously. 

This  was  a  deep  scheme,  for  the  pilgrims, 
after  waiting  long  for  Kono  to  finish,  would 
conclude  such  fervent  piety  should  not  be 
disturbed.  Leaving  the  zealot  in  Sono  Hito's 
tub,  they  would  cross  over  to  do  as  best  they 
might  with  two  buckets.  When  they  had 
done  so  they  emptied  these  buckets  on  the 
roadside.  Buddha  did  not  purr. 

Kono  Hito,  however,  as  he  ground  and 
ground  away,  taking  twenty  or  thirty  baths  a 
day,  chilling  himself  in  the  cataract  and 
pumping  three  times  as  much  water  over 
Sono  Hito's  fields  as  he  brought  down  onto 
his  poll,  had  much  tenacity  and  a  belief  that 
if  he  could  keep  the  pious  to  his  side  of  the 
road  long  enough  he  would  receive  the 
blessings  his  soul  yearned  for. 

He  pumped  and  prayed  heroically,  resting 
little  and  eating  less,  while  Sono  Hito  took  a 
peep  at  him  occasionally  and  showed  not  the 
least  vexation. 

Kono  wondered  at  this,  for  he  had  been 
rather  fearful  of  discovery,  and  when  he 

243 


TALES  FROM  TOKIO. 

learned  that  the  man  he  was  so  jealous  of 
had  seen  him  and  had  said  nothing,  he  did 
not  understand.  Nor  did  he  understand  why 
Buddha  would  not  smile  upon  his  crops. 

As  he  pumped  he  puzzled  upon  these 
things  and  grew  more  and  more  attenuated. 

Overbathing,  even  with  prayers,  is  not 
good.  When  Junsa,  the  policeman,  called 
Isha,  the  physician,  to  Sono  Hito's  shrine  one 
evening  and  let  his  lantern  light  fall  on  Kono 
Hito's  face,  the  man  of  medicine  said,  "  Water 
on  the  brain."  Two  days  later  they  buried 
him,  and  Sono  Hito  gave  money  for  a  stone 
column  to  mark  the  resting  place  of  his 
ashes.  He  really  had  helped  Sono  Hito  a 
good  deal. 


A     000034445   7 


Univ 

Sc 

I 


